


Hello Stranger

by EmiliaTaylor, Gambitgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, F/M, Megstiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 76,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiliaTaylor/pseuds/EmiliaTaylor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gambitgirl/pseuds/Gambitgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is an investigator of the supernatural, Meg an exotic dancer with a serious case.</p><p>Starts out smutty, gets plotty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A long hard week of work at the Winchester Agency left the Castiel with a sour taste in his mouth, but a significant bonus in his pocket for the evidence he'd literally unearthed, that would get their client off the charge of murdering that rabbi. He considered doing the responsible thing and immediately putting it in the bank, but the memory of cracking open that coffin to find it filled with the crumbled clay, the remains of a cleverly made golem, instead of the alleged victim's body made the decision to go get loaded and blow off some stress suddenly a lot easier. 

After all, money was made to be spent, and he needed to forget about this week. Dank graveyards mixed with the generally unholy, supernatural and/or shitty clients of the Winchester Agency, made the strip club seem like as good any place to blow it. Talking to people outside of the job was not one of his strong suits, so women he didn’t have to engage in actual conversation with and strong drinks sounded really good right now. So he went in, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior, and moved until he found an unoccupied leather armchair to the left of one of the stages.

“Thaaaaank you,” Meg purred as a man slipped a $20 in the back of her thong when the song ended. She patted his cheek then moved through the crowd of ladies methodically working her way through the throng of men, looking for the next big tipper. Glancing around and finding that no one immediately leapt out to her as particularly willing to get a lapful at the moment Meg spied one of the smaller pole stages open and skipped up. Might as well get a better view of tonight’s crowd while shaking her money maker to one of her favorite songs. Fishnet thigh highs topped by lacy black garters and a cheeky thong decorated with assorted bills was her favorite look. She plucked a few from her garter and made a point of tucking them down the cleavage of her push-up bra before hooking one slim leg around the pole and swinging around it, the smear of anonymous faces blurring past her.

He tipped the topless waitress generously for bringing the scotch with a beer chaser and made a point to count off a couple of bills from the stack to put on his table so she knew he intended to spend hard tonight and to keep them coming. The language of commerce was much easier for him to speak with women than chit chat. He had a tendency to fall terribly tongue tied or be downright, albeit unintentionally, rude. His bosses at the agency told him he was much cuter and more effective when he shut up and did that unnerving staring thing he did so well, the kind that turned previously silent suspects into blabbermouth informants in no time. He adopted this tactic outside of work too, found it easier to slip through each day and evening if he simply didn’t bother talking to people. The women he sought out weren’t interested in conversation either. They didn’t mind if he stared as long as he paid them.

So stare he did when a long pair of pale legs wrapped in netting and lace crossed his peripheral vision. He could stare at this one all night, easily.

Tuning into the beat blaring through the speaker Meg started moving slow and sinuous at first. Hands wrapped around the pole for balance allowed her to dip into an extreme arch as she bent over at the waist, long hair brushing the floor as she peered between her legs at the faces lining the edge of her stage. She grinned, one or two looked pretty eager, then flipped her hair back, a dark sheet momentarily flashing violet in the purple spotlight pointed down on her. She swung around to face her little crowd and put her back to the pole and slide down with an inviting spread of thighs, as though any one of the suckers could step between them. Her hips rocked from side to side then swirled in a circle, a hint as to what she might do for them if only they were willing to pay the price. 

She enjoyed that part the most, seeing their faces, how they reacted to her. A lot of girls didn’t. They preferred to keep it as anonymous as possible but Meg loved it. Watching their resolve crumble and their faces shift from feigned aloofness to desperate want, that was her favorite part. Her eyes skimmed the crowd, as she shimmied back upright with a fluid swivel, and landed on a straight-edge looking businessman with a stern look on his face. 

_Oh, he looks like he’d be so fun to crack right open._

Castiel swallowed dryly when she started to dance then remembered he had a drink in his hand and raised it to his mouth. This slim brunette knew how to show off her body to its best advantage, make sure one's eyes were dragged right to where she wanted them. Right now, his were glued to the swing and sway of her hips, the up and down tilt that couldn’t make a man think of anything else except how they’d feel sliding down on him. The way she rocked down to the beat and tossed her hair then bounced back up with a sly smirk on her face, he was almost convinced she was enjoying herself. He knew it was all just part of the role she played, but she was a good actress, very good. He didn’t stop watching her, even over the edge of his glass as he raised it again, although he had a hard time swallowing when he realized she directed that grin right at him.

Well, he wanted to blow some money tonight, and he could definitely think of worse ways to spend it than tucking it into whatever scraps of her tiny outfit she presented. He made it a point to hold her gaze, he could do that, and reached into his jacket's interior pocket to withdraw a crisp fold of twenties.

Her brow raised slightly in interest when he held her gaze without blinking. 

_Ooh, he thinks he's a brave one, does he?_

As the song ended she slipped off the stage and sauntered over to him, eyes flicking to the wad of cash in his hand and she was so much very interested in this uptight looking gent. Bending over his chair, hands resting on his knees, she smiled. 

“See something you like, hun?” Her fingers rubbed up and down his thighs a few inches, a hint, a tease, a temptation.

He was glad she asked a question he could easily answer with just a short nod. There was no way he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth when her hands started moving. But his face betrayed none of his anxiety, his stony expression perfected over the years was a necessary thing in his line of work. If he could look at a still sizzling wendigo corpse without flinching he could stare down this painfully appealing woman without a shift in expression. So he simply nodded and picked up his beer to take a swallow without moving his eyes from hers. Once he put the bottle down he indulged in a long look down her obvious cleavage. 

Lace, he did love lace.

When he didn’t say anything, but simply nodded and downed some of his drink like he was the coolest cucumber, Meg's lips pouted in a teasing moue.

“Aw, not a talker, babe? I bet I can get you to say a few things,” she promised as she turned around and, settling her hands on arms of his chair, perched on his lap. When the next song started, she began to move, a light back and forth rock that barely brushed against him, the kind she knew made a man want to push back for more friction.

She was good…really good, Castiel thought. She picked up on his lack of desire for small talk and didn’t force it. She knew how to read her customers just right and he appreciated that. Some girls, in the other bars and clubs and cathouses, wanted to chat him up as if talking about innocuous things like the weather or sports or politics, none of which he gave a damn about, would somehow make all this feel a little less crass, less commercial. Like a little date rather than the reality of a man paying a woman for some satisfaction. He wasn’t interested in pretending it was any of that. 

Apparently, neither was she by the way she immediately set to riling him up without any pretext.

He was most definitely an ass man, and she was giving him the perfect view from this position. As this was his first time to this particular club he kept his hands carefully to himself except to tuck one bill, then another, in her garter. He’d behave himself; he needed to get a better idea what sort of perks this place, and its ladies, might offer in terms of private shows. The best way to get thrown out was to get handsy with the women without their express permission. Some places didn’t allow it at all. The women could touch the men, but it was a one way street. Other places allowed ladies’ choice, leaving control of whom, what, and where up to their lovely employees as long as it was discrete and all bills were paid to everyones' satisfaction.

Meg glanced over her shoulder at the stony faced guy she mentally named Mr. Roboto when that second twenty joined the first. 

Oh, she enjoyed a generous spender so much. 

She grinned at his stoic expression, noted the way a muscle in his jaw clenched when she let just a smidge more of her weight rest in his lap when she undulated on a downbeat to the song. He was fun to try to read, not an open book, but something just interesting enough under that dull tax accountant exterior to make her want to turn another page. So she arched back, her right arm coming up to circle around his head so her mouth nearly brushed his jaw as she settled more securely onto him and set up a slow grind. She was rewarded when she felt, more than heard, him exhale hard.

Castiel's fingers curled into the leather of the armchair when she started to move like that. The brunette was definitely earning her money tonight because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so hard from so little so quickly. He was grateful for the club’s dim lights when she leaned back into because there was no hiding the obvious bulge firmly pressed against her. Her white teeth flashed at him as she moved close, very close, maybe a bit too close because he swore he felt a little nip to his jaw. He picked up his glass and deliberately took a long swallow to steady himself before looking over her shoulder and down the length of her body. Small pert tits covered in black lace, a flat expanse of pale stomach that made him want to run a hand over it just to see how soft her skin was, hips curved so dangerously they should come with a warning sign; yes, she was definitely in right up his alley.

He held up another bill between two fingers so she could see it, then tucked it into her cleavage with a little tap of his index finger.

She caught that long stare, the way his eyes lingered here then there on her body, and she knew she had him. Even the most uptight customers eventually softened their reserve as she expertly firmed them up with a practiced rub here and there. This one was no different, she confirmed to herself as she ran one finger along his stubbly jaw line.

“You want it off, baby?” she purred by his ear. The way his nod was quick and jerky, his noticeable swallow, she just loved it. He was putty in her hands, and she’d barely even started. She wondered just how little it would take to bleed his pockets dry tonight. Not that she intended to short him his money’s worth, she just had a suspicion this guy was wound so tight that the smallest thing could set him off. 

_Would it be just one more wiggle in his lap? Another murmured offer in his ear? How long could he hold back?_

This was turning into one of her favorite games: the power play. Fun and financially rewarding the way some guys, usually the painfully tense businessmen and the control freaks, seemed to long for her to unravel them, unstarch those pressed white collars, and snatch away all that control they clung to so tightly during the day. 

She delighted in finding each button and pushing it just long and hard enough to make them squirm then doing it again until the well, and often the men, ran dry. They’d leave wrung out, both in mind and wallet, and come back the next week, their mere presence a silent plea to for her to undo them once more. She knew this man was just like them. 

“Mmmkay, babe, just for you,” she cooed right by his ear and smiled to herself when it sounded like he choked.

His fingers clenched into fists to keep them still, his self-control taking a dangerous nose-dive when her sultry voice brushed his ear again. Her voice was just as alluring as the rest of her, low, sinful, a practiced tease. Everything about her felt like a carefully honed art, something potentially dangerous like a fine sharp blade.

She took her time swaying forward to rise from his lap and kept her back to him, one hand trailing up her spine to flick the clasp. Her hips swayed from side to side in a hypnotic pendulum, drawing his eyes back and forth as the lace parted and fell open. She slowly turned, ducking her head so a lock of dark hair fell over one eye and smiling demurely at him while holding the lace demi-cups in place as thought she was shy.

When she stood up, he was grateful for the temporary relief and subtly adjusted himself while her back was turned. He leaned back, sat with a wider stance, and let his eyes track up and down her body as she stepped away briefly. Long legs and the sweetest ass he’d ever seen was framed so nicely with a black thong. The curve below each cheek had the sort of graceful lines that made his hands itch with the urge to trace them. He kept them still though and raised an eyebrow when she turned with hands coyly keeping her bra in place. 

Castiel noted she did a good job selling him, a bit too good, and he really needed to pace himself and stop throwing twenties like ones. He held up one last bill, just out of reach so she’d have to move her hands to get it. He paid and he wanted to see.

Meg chuckled, “Smart boy,” as she stepped into the gap between his legs and lifted her hands to let her bra drop into his lap. She moved well into his personal space, fingers braced on the back of his chair on either side of his head as she leaned forward to snap her teeth on the end of the crisp bill. She could feel the stubble on his cheeks lightly abrade the inside of each breast as she deliberately shimmied back down to perch on his lap again.

His jaw nearly dropped when the dark haired beauty practically climbed him like a tree. Beautiful, pert, rounded tits with pink tips brushed up his face as she fearlessly slithered over him to grab the money. There wasn’t much more he wanted in the world at that moment than to touch her. 

“Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, dear,” Meg smirked as the song ended and slipped off him. Her hand darted down into his lap on the pretext of retrieving her bra, but really she just wanted to check her progress. An unmistakable squeeze made the man’s eyes widen, and she slipped her fingers around for a firm and lingering grope. 

Castiel behaved himself, he did, but it was a very near thing when she fondled him. There wasn’t any other word to describe it. Thankfully, he didn’t give in to the strong urge to grab her hand and keep it there. That sort of presumption got a guy kicked out of clubs.

He was rewarded when she leaned right in again, he imagined he could almost feel the subtle heat of her bleeding through his layers, and brushed her mouth over his cheek. The shiver that raced over his skin at the cool press of her lips made goosebumps rise on his arms and a tiny choked noise come from his throat unbidden. 

“Mm, I think you did.” She waggled the twenty at him before she sauntered away, bra slung over her shoulder.

She was gone in a sway of hips and a sly grin with a decent chunk of his money, which he’d spent in what was probably record time for him. 

“Holy...” he muttered then quickly raised two fingers at a passing waitress. He definitely needed another couple of drinks because there was no way he could get up from his seat anytime soon. He would just sit here, quietly, and watch that brunette beauty from a safer distance.

“Oh, babe, I do like your style,” she gushed quietly crossed the room, fingers flickering through her take from that one little dance and she fanned herself with the currency for a moment. She had the very distinct feeling that she’d just scored herself a repeat customer, especially based on that desperate little noise she wrung out of him at the end. 

A sharp whistle made her head snap up, derailing that train of thought. She spun around with a genuine smile. “Benny! You bastard, you’re late!” she crowed, throwing her bra in his face good naturedly before she plopped down in the lap of her most dependable and favorite regular: a burly longshoreman with a deep laugh, a lazy drawl, easy disposition, and deep pockets. 

Castiel resettled his suit collar and pursed his lips around the neck of another beer as he watched how easily the big bearded guy got her into his lap and topless with just a whistle and wave of his hand. The man looked like the sort of tough guy a lot of women seemed to go for. They certainly didn’t crawl into the laps of pale guys in rumpled trench coats for free. 

He shook his head, silently chastising himself. She was just doing her job and was damn good at it too. Any twinge of envy he might feel could easily be relieved if he offered up some money to her or another lady working here. 

Besides, the tease, the knowledge that what he wanted most was likely out of reach was what he really liked. The possibility, however unattainable.

It was why he usually preferred exotic dancers to escorts, although he did call upon their services from time to time. Some nights the urge was just too strong to ignore, or he was just too tired of pretending he wasn’t lonely. However, the escorts usually made him a bit more jittery than he liked. The knowledge that he was expected to do a little performing of his own soured the experience slightly as did listening to their feigned noises of excitement. He didn’t have to worry about that at the gentlemen’s clubs; he could sit here and watch and let it all wash over him then go home and deal with whatever tension was left.

Castiel noted the brunette sat seemingly comfortable and quite cheery in the large man’s lap, her fingers running through his beard in a familiar manner, her throaty laughter floating between breaks in the music. He caught himself staring as the tough looking customer pretended to fan her with a splay of currency, watched as she grinned and snapped her teeth at his hand then his face teasingly like she was about to bite. Once she finally plucked the money from his fingers she popped off his lap, and he slapped her on the ass with a sharp crack, making her laugh in a manner that indicated she didn’t mind at all. She wagged a finger at the big guy in a way that told Castiel this was a scene that had been played out many times before. The burly man playfully chased her through the crowd and they disappeared past two bouncers into what Castiel assumed were the VIP and private rooms.

Apparently the security here either was selective about enforcing the hands-off-the-dancers rule or exceptions could be made by the ladies themselves. Whomever the lucky bastard was, she didn't appear to feign enjoyment at his company. Boyfriend? Fuck buddy? Regular who received perks? Why was he even thinking about this? 

There were half naked women everywhere; he needed to quit staring intently at the heavy curtain leading to the private rooms and concentrate on one of the other strippers, two of whom were definitely watching him. He flicked his eyes over them, one a redhead. No, not her, she reminded him of his sister. He nodded at the exotic looking brunette and settled back in his seat as she readily straddled him. She said her name was Ruby and proceeded to give him a...somewhat perfunctory lap dance that was not exactly worth it, except that he'd have no problem getting up to piss in a minute. She killed his hard on.

Meg liked Benny, he was easy to please, always jovial, and paid her quite well to have an hour or two of fun. What happened in the private rooms was a quiet and discrete negotiation between each lady and whatever customer she decided to take back there. 

Surprisingly, a lot of the time the guys just wanted someone to listen to them; usually they bitched about their wives or girlfriends or jobs. That was always a buzz kill to Meg. The rest were done quickly and that was even less enjoyable most of the time, but it paid damn well. 

Benny, however, was funny, easy on the eyes and with his hands, and she genuinely enjoyed it when he came to see her and only her. She relished being the only one who could scratch that itch he got once every week when his ship was in port. She had the power and that tickled her right where her bathing suit went and in her pockets when she had any.

Castiel tipped Ruby just as half-heartedly as she danced for him; if this kept up he'd probably go home with money in his pocket. Needing to take a leak he headed for the bathroom, loosening his tie along the way and almost flattening himself against the side of the hallway as two dancers passed by in next to nothing and easily ignored him. Of course they did, women typically saw right through him like cellophane unless they wanted something. Money, extermination, an impeccable trial witness. 

Whatever, at least with strippers it was clear what kind of transaction was on the table, no illusions there. 

He washed his hands when finished and glanced in the mirror then blinked and stared. The brunette with the killer ass and even deadlier smile had left a bright red lipstick smear on his cheek. He didn't wipe it off, not just yet. He decided upon exiting the restroom that he was definitely going to come back to see her. Next time see if he couldn’t persuade her to ditch the top a little faster, maybe favor him with one of those laughs instead of a smirk. He’d like that, if she laughed for him and not at him.

After some fun time filled with teasing and throaty laughter Meg gave Benny a noisy smooch on the cheek goodbye and scooted out of the VIP room they'd ducked into, adjusting her bra and pushing the girls up just a tad higher. Because Benny showed up late this evening they didn’t have as much time together as usual. He had to get home, but he still paid her in full. One more reason Meg thought he was great. 

When she looked up, she spotted Mr. Roboto emerging from the men’s room. He looked like he was ready to leave, but she had a suspicion he still had money in his pocket and that just would not do. She eased over to him, running fingers through her hair to fluff it a bit, “Aw, not ducking out on me already are you babe?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is an investigator of the supernatural, Meg an exotic dancer with a serious case.
> 
> Starts out smutty, gets plotty.

That voice, it was like a velvet rope looped over him the way it jerked him to a stop. He looked over his shoulder and there she was, looking like the cat that just got the cream.

No, he wouldn’t let his mind go there.

He swung around slowly and gazed down at her, her legs really were amazing, then back up. He shrugged as he looked at her through his lashes, aware his face was heating up and once again so grateful for the low lighting. He’d thought about leaving, but if she was available maybe he'd go home broke, and with another enjoyable memory to help him take the pressure off once he was alone. He opened his mouth to inquire about another dance then snapped it shut and cut his eyes at the door leading to the private rooms. He'd like to have her entire attention, away from the lights and other customers.

She raised a brow and followed his eyes then laughed softly, "You want some alone time with little ol' me, hun?” 

She rose up on her toes to whisper near his ear, the way she knew he wouldn’t consider it a question, but a directive. “You know that costs extra, right?” She considered just squeezing a few more excessively generous lap dances out of him, but if he wanted a private show then she wanted the rest of that stack he was hiding.

He didn't hesitate to reach into his suit jacket and make a point of counting out a few fifties...then a few more, watching her face...and a few more as he observed her growing interested look. He wanted that interest, he admitted that easily, and he had no problem paying for it now that he knew he could have it, even if only for an hour. Especially if she kept talking in his ear just like that. The way it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, he wanted more of that.

Meg’s eyes lit up as she watched his fingers slowly peeling back each bill. She tired to school her expression, but that was a lot of money and she wanted it. He stopped counting them out when he knew he’d hit the right number because the corner of her mouth twitched higher and her fingers reached for the stack. Uptight he might be, but this little tax accountant knew how it worked; he wasn’t a novice to this little game.

"Babe, I think we just became best friends. Come on.” Meg grabbed one of his hands and pulled him through the people, relieving him of his offered cash along the way. She batted aside the heavy velvet curtain to the VIP area with a cheery wave to security. Tonight was certainly her night, two private showings with two easy to please customers, she was in a good mood now. 

As profitable as it could be to scoot around the club from lap to lap, shaking down men like an assembly line for twenties, it was also tiring and after a couple hours she sometimes had to struggle to smile for her customers. Dancing on the stage was fun, she was the center of attention, she could show off her considerable talents to their best advantage and scoop up quite a few tips from the money thrown at her feet like offerings before a goddess. 

But private shows? She savored having some quality time with her patrons, when she and she alone would take all of their money, which always ended up being more than they intended to spend. One on one she was in control; she made the rules, she determined the outcome and she always made sure they both went home happy. Her satisfaction was usually in the shape of a bulging pocketbook, but on occasion even she’d have a sated smile on her face as she tripped out to the taxi that would take her home. 

He looked down at her hand clasped around his, and he didn’t hesitate to follow, although he tried not to let his eagerness show. It was difficult though, when that perfect pale bottom tipped from side to side as she strolled in front of him. She clearly knew what she was doing, she didn't hesitate, and she appeared to relish taking charge as she yanked him into a room and closed the door behind them with an authoritative click. He liked this room, it was quieter, he could hear her speak more easily, even the quiet happy sounding hum that buzzed in her throat as she backed him towards a leather sofa.

Even though he was the one with the money she also had power, she could turn him down or turn him on; it was her choice. Until he hit the right dollar amount, then the balance of power could change. It was a fine seesaw act and right now it appeared to be tipping in her favor as he sank into a plush sofa and stared up at her.

Meg let him get a full look at what he was paying for, standing in front of him as she brushed her fingers through her hair. His eyes followed the motion. Good, he was paying attention. She smirked and walked over to straddle his lap, facing him, fingers tugging his tie lightly.

"You wanna tell me what you want, babe? Or do I have to figure it out from the cute little cues you've been giving me, hm?" She tipped her head to one side and gave him a challenging look. How much is he going to make her work for it? How long before she can make him crack and the words tumble out?

She stroked one finger along his chin, just below his lips. Nice full ones, a little chapped, looked like he chewed them sometimes. She made it a point to stare at his mouth, men liked that sort of specific attention, as if there was some part of them she really wanted. She didn’t, but she could fake it with the best.

“Hm? You the strong, silent type, babe?”

He knew she’d just given him an out; he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, but it was also an invitation. One he'd clearly paid for, so if he wanted something he could ask for it. He watched her quietly a moment before speaking. 

"Your name," he said, voice low and gravelly, more a statement than inquiry. He blinked, a little surprised at himself. That hadn't been what he wanted to ask, he wanted to know if he could touch her, even if it was just to put his hands on her hips while she gave him another lap dance, maybe let her know she could grind harder or go slower. 

But he wanted her name just as badly.

"That better not be all you want, or I'll feel like I'm cheating you, hun," she laughed lightly and straightened the lapel of his suit. "It's Meg. What about you? You got a name?" The men only ever asked her name when they intended to see her again. She’d read him right. 

_Come to Meggy, deep pockets._

She asked nicely and sweetened it with another invitation for him to tell her exactly what he wanted...which was harder than it sounded. He had to clear his throat twice before fixing her with a stare, "Castiel.”

“Castiel...that's an interesting name, suits you though." She tilted her head as she flattened her hands on his chest. “You strike me as an,” she dropped her gaze to his lips again and licked hers, “interesting guy.” 

That always made them think about what else she could do with her lips. It wasn’t that hard, most men were simple creatures after all, and they all loved a pretty woman flattering them.

_Yes, you're all just so interesting, especially your bank balances._

“So, Cas,” she shortened his name, it was a touch of something like familiarity, like they were already just sooooo close and could be closer still if he played his cards right. “What do you want?" she mumbled in his ear, like she was almost tripping over the words in her eagerness to know what would please him. It was second nature to her.

“I want you to take charge,” he rumbled, neck arching back unconsciously when he felt her heated breath against his temple. 

He quickly snapped his mouth shut, it wasn’t following his brain's orders. This was why he sucked at talking to women. He knew what he wanted to say, but it always came out wrong. Too harsh or something unbidden, the first thing that came to his mind tumbled from his tongue, that crucial filter between his brain and lips short-circuiting at the sight of an enticing smile.

He wanted to know if he could touch her, at least he thought he did. Learn for himself if her skin was as soft and smooth as it looked. 

Apparently he also wanted her to boss him around, take control out of his hands and show him what she could do with it. Relieve him of the responsibility of restraint for one night.

Meg’s smile widened like the Cheshire Cat’s and she leaned back to grace him with it, her eyebrows arching mischievously.

“Mm, darling, I'm always in control.” She traipsed fingers down his chest, voice harder as she got into her role. “We're going to have some fun, Cas, but you need to be comfortable first.”

She pushed his coat off of his shoulders, then his suit jacket. She saw him tense when she started to strip him, and she ignored it. A lot of men had issues about removing any of their clothes here. They thought staying dressed while she was practically naked gave them the power. 

_Oh, they were so wrong, but it never hurt to let them think it anyway._

That way, when she stripped them of a few silly layers it made them nervous. She wanted Cas nervous, sweating, it was always easier to undo a man when he was on shaky ground.

She held up one finger before his eyes and wagged it when he started to raise a hand to stop her. “Shh, babe, this is the last thing we’re taking off you. Just getting you comfy.” Such a lie, she wanted him on edge, easier to push him right off.

She deftly undid his tie and dragged it slowly from his collar, as she kept her eyes on his and stared him down. He’d give first, the men always did. She dangled her tie in front of his eyes a moment and grinned when he blinked. Aw, so precious, the deep blue went with his eyes. It was cute in a matchy matchy way.

Castiel had stiffened when her hands started pushing at clothes and didn’t relax much at all when she stopped. Her fingers toyed with the top button of his shirt, a tease, a threat. 

He didn’t want her checking him out, Meg had a lot more to offer than him. Also, his body had some definite drawbacks that didn't help him with women. He didn’t need the reminder that there were good reasons as to why he had to pay for their attentions. 

When the silk of his tie slithered loose, she stared him down until he blinked. Castiel knew he’d just given in, it was a relief and a small terror. But he asked for it, she would give it to him, so he consciously attempted to relax his posture and sink back into the sofa, give himself over to the dark haired woman in his lap who smiled at him the way a shark might before it takes an exploratory chunk out of you. An anxious twinge of excitement ran right up his spine again, and he nodded.

She tilted her head the other way, watched as he subtly loosened up under her, his back softer against the sofa, the stiff line of his neck eased slightly. Time to push it one more step, see if he really meant it about letting her take charge.

"Hmm, just one more thing," she mused as she looked down at him as though making a terribly important decision. Slim fingers tipped in red polish deftly undid the top two buttons on his shirt. She cocked her head the other way, assessing her work, then his reaction. Cas looked back at her with half lidded eyes; anyone else would say he looked relaxed, but she saw the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, the little jump of a muscle in his cheek. 

That was good. He was making himself let it happen, forcing himself to let go just a smidge.

“There you go, babe. We can have some fun, now that you don't look so uptight.” She patted his cheek as though rewarding him for being so good and docile. She rubbed her hands down his chest just once, rumpling his dress shirt a tad, then slid off his lap to stand again. Turning she bent over slightly to let her hair fall over one shoulder. She made sure all his attention was fixed on only what she was showing him, how she was all his just for right now. 

“I assume you enjoyed your lap dance, earlier?” She glanced over her shoulder, giving him an tiny and encouraging nod that he returned quickly. A sharp up and down motion of his head, like he couldn’t agree fast enough.

There was no way Castiel was going to dispute anything she said when she offered him that view. She had a perfect, heart shaped ass; he suspected it would fit perfectly in his hands, that tempting crease where it met her thighs he longed to caress. But she didn't tell him he could, so he wouldn't. She was in charge.

Meg liked what she saw, how quietly responsive he was. This Cas didn’t say much, but his body spoke the kind of language at which she excelled. Cas could touch her, she’d let him, but she wasn't going to tell him. Not until he was ready to beg. 

One of the biggest thrills she got from her job was watching men struggle, with their egos, their self-restraint. This poor guy was already having a hard time, just from her giving him a little peek. She saw how his hand twitched then steadied as he forced it still. She liked that twitch.

This was the perfect time to check the ankle straps on her heels, she thought, so she bent over all the way over, slow, graceful, years of practice informing her just the right width to her stance, the most flattering angle to the dip in her back, the way to slowly move her fingers as though touching her own skin was positively delicious. 

She placed her feet shoulder width apart and let her fingers sweep down to adjust the straps, one and then the other. Slowly, patiently she let her fingers glide up her legs, fingers making small circles at the dips of her knees, swirling up her thighs to run her thumbs under the straps of her thong then let it snap against her skin.

Castiel knew Meg was deliberately teasing him, not getting any closer to him or any more naked, but it wasn't like he could demand she start doing either. He said he wanted her to take charge, and this was it. He was going to sit there and, he swallowed at the thought, let her do whatever she wanted. If that meant teasing him all night then next time he'd work up the nerve to say he wanted her topless immediately and backed up into his lap. That he wanted her to mutter in his ear, anything she wanted to say as long as she kept talking and he didn't have to. 

But that wasn't on the menu for tonight; tonight he was going to sit here and watch her closely and not touch unless she told him to. The only outward sign of this internal struggle in Castiel was a slight widening of his eyes when Meg hooked her thumbs in her panties and the way one hand clenched against the armrest of the sofa.

The sign might as well have been 10 feet tall and flashing neon to Meg.

She swung around to face him, once satisfied that her thong was in the right place, and kicked up one heeled foot on the couch, right between his legs. She ignored the tiny jump Cas gave and merely leaned forward to pull her thigh high stockings into place, smoothing them out slowly up her legs then pulling the tops higher up her thighs. She flicked her eyes to his face as she expertly undid one garter snap to adjust her stocking, the re-secured it with a practiced slip of thumb and index finger. 

Castiel watched her hands move as though memorizing every action. He tracked the glide of her fingers with his eyes, he knew she wanted him to watch her, appreciate the little gestures she put on to lure him in and, damnit, it really worked. Those legs were made for sin and that foot was about to commit one if only she moved it a bit higher. He dragged his eyes up as she smoothed her palms down her legs, and he was rewarded with another eyeful of cleavage.

Meg was pleased as punch; it was clear by the way his eyes stayed there that Cas would certainly like to see more than a quick flash this time. But he didn’t ask for it, he let her decide if he gets it. 

“What a good boy, so attentive,” she cooed, brushing her fingers under his chin as she tipped it up. He could look, he earned it. She turned in a single fluid motion to perch on his lap once more and spoke over her shoulder, "Would you mind undoing that little clasp for me, Cas? It's so much easier if someone else does it and these things get so uncomfortable" She wiggled her shoulders as though they itched.

He eyed her slim back, the alluring arch of it as she managed to sit somewhat primly on him, his gaze drawn to the slight wriggle of her shoulders. She asked him so innocently to unhook her bra, like asking for the weather. He liked that, that she sounded like a saint while looking like the best kind of sinner. He slowly raised hands to tug at the clasp, pulled it lightly from her skin to unhook it after two tries, then slowly parted it as though the removal of that thin of satin unwrapped a present he waited for all year.

She shrugged out of the straps and didn't make him wait this time,but dropped her bra to the floor and stood to face him. She allowed his eyes to travel up and down her body in blatant admiration as she innocently stretched her arms up, swaying her torso and arms side to side, lifting her chest. 

A low, drawn out, pleased moan slid past her lips as she stretched just the right ways; her job really was physical and ooh that felt so good. He didn’t make a sound, not a whimper of protest that she stood out of arm’s reach, not an impatient grunt while she lazily stretched in front of him. That was good, he wasn’t allowed to, he only got what she decided to give him. She wanted to see how much longer he’d be so compliant and patient before he started to break. 

She stepped carefully around his feet and sat at the end of the couch before swinging her legs up to put her feet in his lap, lounging in a blatant way, like she was done working and was about to relax. 

"Do you like my shoes, Cas?" She rubbed them on his thighs, tilting her head in that inquiring way she’d perfected over the years. A cute little mental question mark to punctuate that she expected an answer.

Castiel saw that little smirk and yanked his eyes down at her question. Little black straps around slim ankles, fishnets, small red bows. Yes, he liked those shoes very much, and he nodded to her. One hand rose abortively to touch, but he dropped it when he recalled she didn't say he could.

"You can take them off if you want to, hun. They aren't all that comfy, even if they are very cute.” She rubbed against his thigh again. 

He immediately raised his hand to take her right foot and carefully pulled the strap, fingers sliding over the shiny patent leather, the hard arch, the slim curve of her ankle.

She let him focus on her shoes for a few moment before she flattened her hands on her stomach and slowly smoothed them up to cup her breasts. A deliberate, exaggerated movement she knew caught his eye, despite the fact he kept them directed at the fiddly strap of her heel as he unbuckled it. 

She rolled them in her small hands, making a face as she deep in thought, as an index finger played idly with on pink tip.. "You like these, Cas? They're big enough?" 

He admired the way her shoes made her calves tight, but his attention stumbled when she dragged his gaze higher up with that question. Fingers working without conscious thought as his eyes moved back up once more, landing on her sly and challenging look then his gaze slipped lower to widen at how unselfconsciously she touched herself.

Meg enjoyed jerking his attention back and forth, never letting him linger too long any one particular place. He responded so beautifully, quiet, precise, did exactly what she wanted and no more.

Cas swallowed dryly. She was much too good at this, it was as though his poker face was entirely transparent to her; it might have concerned him how easily she pulled his strings, if he didn’t enjoy it so much. He let his eyes fall exactly where she wanted them and chewed his lower lip a moment before he said lowly, "They look...very nice. Perfect size. Natural." Almost immediately his face began to flush. Why did he say that to her? Most strippers had implants, but it wasn’t as if they wanted it pointed out or commented on. Although, he was sure they were real, they looked so soft, temptingly so.

Eyes fixed on his face as she gave one tip an experimental tweak, Meg observed a muscle tic in his jaw. "Good, I'm glad I didn't spend the money to make them bigger." 

She sighed in relief when he finally slid off her right shoe, rotating her ankle before she tucked the foot into his lap once more with a wiggle of toes. He eyes slid down to watch. She lazily tangled her fingers in her hair, brushing it out a bit, and his attention slid up to follow the motion of her fingers. 

"Take off the other one," she reminded him with a hint of amusement and tipped one foot up under his chin to tap it lightly. Such a good boy, he was on the leash and took it so easily.

Castiel snapped to attention at her command and hurriedly unclasped her other shoe and leaned over to place them neatly on the floor. When he sat back he rested his hand on her ankle and squeezed lightly, before he remembered he shouldn't and moved it back to the neutral territory of the arm rest. He turned slightly to watch her; Meg really was too far away and he wanted her closer, but he couldn’t ask for it.

Meg knew he wanted her closer, she gave it to him, a little reward for being so obedient, as she crawled over the couch to straddle his lap. One finger lifted his scruffy chin, bringing his eyes to her, where she wanted them as she quietly inquired, lips barely moving as she murmured, “Tell me Cas, why did you want a little private time with me?" 

It wasn’t permission given, it was an answer demanded.

Castiel knew there were other women there, ones who wouldn’t play so coy, but they also wouldn’t play him so well. None of them sparked some base instinct in him that said Meg was a tad dangerous and not just to his wallet. He was used to trusting his gut and knew this was the woman whose attention he wanted tonight, not Ruby or any of the others.

There was no way he was going to say any of that; it would sound creepy or strange so he defaulted to staring at her as she tilted his chin up, shrugging slightly.

Meg worked her jaw in irritation. He wasn’t listening to her.

_That wouldn't do at all._

"See now, honey, I asked you a question." Her hand quickly moved to tightly grip his hair and yank his head back. Her voice lowered to a growl, "You wanted me in charge, so I want actual answers out of you,” her fingers tightened in his hair, “or neither of us is going to have much fun, got it?" 

Castiel gasped and, on instinct, he almost yanked her off him. The hard clench pulling his hair, forcing his head back, his neck bared, it was an automatic reaction. He inhaled sharply, reminded himself this wasn’t work, his didn’t need that fight or flight surge; he could surrender. With effort he dropped his hands, even slower he pushed down his reticence, and finally he did what she told him to.

"You're...in charge. I...wanted you in here because..." he swallowed dryly, his voice was rough, he thought he sounded like such a creep, "I think you’re…dangerous." 

She grinned and let his hair go, after one last firm tug, to gently grab his chin. "There, that wasn't so hard was it, babe?" She rubbed her thumb over his lower lip; it looked so inviting all of a sudden, so she pinched it hard to make him flinch. Instead of pulling away, Cas stilled for a few seconds then dipped his chin into her hand.

_Good boy._

She slid her thumb over the bow in his upper lips this time as a little reward before tracking her hands down down his chest.

“But why do you think I'm dangerous, baby?" She pouted convincingly as she deliberately bunched her fingers in his shirt, deliberately mussing him, unstarching his collar. 

“All I want to do is make you feel good, what’s so dangerous about that, Cas?” she murmured his name just by his ear, drawing it out with a tiny hiss that made him shiver minutely under her.

_Wasn’t he just delicious?_

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, her interest was piqued, and his body said the most interesting things.

His words came out haltingly, dragged out of him against his will because they made him sound pathetic. But Meg demanded the truth, he couldn’t lie to her, she didn’t allow it. "Because I...spent nearly all my bonus just for the chance to take off your shoes and bra…apparently."

"Aw, aren’t you just the most desperate thing?” She patted his cheek consolingly, a little mockingly. “It’s ok, I like you desperate.” She played with the buttons on his shirt, as though she was thinking about undressing him further. She wanted him to think about her undressing him, she wanted him to think about all the things she was not doing to him, she wanted him to think that maybe he could have all those things if he just asked. 

“You’re so quiet, Cas. Maybe I wanna hear more of that deep, desperate voice of yours." She wanted him to ask, then beg, plead, and maybe if she was feeling generous she’d give him just a fraction of what he needed. That was what it meant when she was in control.

“C’mon, babe, tell Meg what you really want.” She swayed in his lap, breasts almost brushing his face as she leaned forward then back, grinding down lightly. “What you’re just dying for?”

Castiel knew she was playing with him, expertly too as she plucked his nerves like a piano wire, forced him to talk when earlier she'd been happy to read his unspoken gestures of a bill here or there. She had nearly all his money, now she wanted something more, his compliance.

He inhaled sharply through his nose when she started to grind. "I want to...touch you..." He amended quickly, "Nowhere you don't allow." He knew the rules, it was up to her and if he crossed a line he'd get road rash from being tossed out so fast.

She considered it for a moment, looking him over, one eyebrow arched. "Well...aren’t you just the simplest little critter?” She was a little surprised, and that didn’t happen too often. When the fellows were this worked up they generally wanted her hands on them, not the other way around. 

But if there was one thing she was known for it was that, while it was always on her terms, her customers always got their money’s worth. And, like any good business woman, Meg always got what she was owed and then some. 

Her product was fantasy, desire, want, a completely renewable resource, replenished every night by the men who entered the club door. And this tightly wound Castiel, with his ready acquiescence to her authority, his desperation to submit himself to her decisions, her orders...Well, he had the potential to become a positive wellspring of income for her as one of her regulars. Her own little gold mine of naked need and, hopefully, deep pockets. 

“You should know I never leave clients unhappy, so…” she let the rest of that sentence drop and leaned closer, encouraging, offering.

"This would make me...very happy," Castiel breathed without thinking. There was so much skin, acres of it, he hardly knew where to start. He had to read her signals properly, only receive what she deigned to let him take. Something in him settled at that, when all he had to do was what she allowed, and show his appreciation. So he touched her reverently.

So he lifted one hand and touched a lock of hair curling over her shoulder, running his fingers through it a few times, it was terribly smooth, before he let it fall again to curl over one shoulder, one breast. 

He followed the strands with a fingertip to her collarbone. The dip at the base of her throat naturally guided his touch the center of her chest, the indent in her flat stomach dragging his touch downward to lightly circle her navel. He let the fingers of his other hand skim the line of her thong, back and forth over one hip, learning it’s curve, before sliding back to trail lightly over that perfect ass. He kept his eyes on her face for any hint he was overstepping. He didn’t need to look down to learn her body now, his hands mapped her terrain methodically, carefully, each hill and valley.

She was very soft, as he suspected, but that was just on the outside. She was hard underneath her lovely exterior, she had to be to do this job; it was self-preservation. 

How lightly he touched her surprised Meg. Usually men just manhandled her tits and ass, often throwing in a swat. It really pissed her off when guys got the idea in their head that “touch me” means “spank my ass and leave a handprint others can see.” Idiots.

But Cas was careful; it was a nice change of pace. The corner of her lip curled up as she arched into his tentative touch. It was definitely more enjoyable than the ridiculous pinching some guys did; this was more like a reverent caress, something a little worshipful in the flicking way his fingertips skirted over her skin, skipping the obvious hot spots and to find the ones he appeared to like the best. Ones she didn’t know were quite that sensitive, like the thin skin over her sternum, the small patch of skin barely an inch below her navel, the rounded little hollow of her left hip. 

She watched him quietly, occasionally shivering when his fingertips touched a new spot that apparently had more nerves than she knew.

She raised up in his lap and those breasts were right in Castiel’s face, all he needed to do was lean forward and he could kiss one. So tempting, but he knew that was over the line, so he settled for raising hand to lightly brush the underside, head tilted as he watched the tip start to tighten. She was a good actress, he didn't mind, he was certainly getting his money's worth...almost.

Licking his lips, Castiel ran the palm of his left hand gingerly over the soft swell of one buttock. He stifled a quiet moan of appreciation when he realized it really did fit just perfectly in his hand. "Would you...move? Like you did before." He asked with polite restraint, even though his breath was uneven now.

Meg smiled and darted quick fingers through his hair before sliding back to stand and give a little spin. He deserved a tiny reward for using all these big boys words. “That’s more like it, babe. See how easy that was?” 

She was considerably shorter without her platform heels on, but that wouldn't stop her, not for a second, as she backed up between his legs and started to sway to the beat of the soft music. Occasionally, with no predictable pattern, she’d dip down to rub against his thighs, teasing by not pushing farther back. For better leverage, she put her hands on his knees, squeezing them sometimes, just to feel his muscles jump. Oh, he was too easy to read sometimes.

Entranced, he watched her move, the turn of her waist as she twisted, the slowly building undulation of her hips in dizzying circles just brushing against him. The warm, firm grip of her hands on his legs when she balanced and never quite lowered herself enough to give that strong, lingering friction he longed for, that she'd teased him with for only a moment earlier that night. He knew that was the trick, Meg tossed out the bait with that grind and reeled him in by his wallet. He was on the hook and didn't care as long as that perfect heart shaped ass keep moving in front of him. A slight, pleased sound sussed past his lips.

Rolling her neck Meg flicked her hair back to brush his face as she gyrated her hips, seemingly pleased noises coming from her in little sighs and quiet moans, like she enjoyed nothing better than doing this for Cas. She could fake it, no problem; it’s what she did for a living. All the men ever wanted was their dream girl all over them, acting like they were the ones fulfilling a horny stripper’s fantasizes instead of the other way around.

Except this odd fellow, Cas; he was so well behaved, watched her so obediently, a little nervous like she could break him any second. He was a good boy, even if he was a little stubbornly mute sometimes.

Meg slowly drew figure eights in the air with each pendulous swing of her hips, eased herself back into Cas’ until she could feel him warm and solid behind her. She settled more fully in his lap, pleased at the progress she found pressing hard against the back of one thigh. Meg made sure to flick her hair over his shoulder as she tucked her head again it and tilted her chin up to murmur low by his ear.

"You don't speak much, you don't touch very much, you don't ask for much.” She hummed when she saw a muscle work in his cheek. “Are you shy, Cas? Intimidated? By li’l old me?" She lifted a hand to tangle in his hair, scratching lightly against the nape of his neck as she restarted a slow and steady grind. When she felt his breath catch in his chest, she knew she had him.

He nodded unconsciously, without a second’s hesitation. Meg could ask him for the bank numbers to every account in the Winchester Agency, and he'd spill them out right now. Especially when she let him touch nearly every curve and flex of her lithe and flexible frame. When she pressed back with delicious friction and made him harder than he remembered being in a long time. When she murmured his secrets in his ear like they were hers now. When her fingers tightened in his hair, making his pulse spike in a new way. She was truth serum and kryptonite.

"Y-yes, Meg," he muttered.

She let out a calculated moan, like those two little words pleased her so much, before she tilted her chin up to purse her lips, mouth his ear lightly before whispering again, "You'd give me everything, wouldn’t you, Cas? Everything you had to your name, if I asked nicely? "

She twisted her fingers in his hair and tugged, she knew he liked that, his little kinks not that hard to read now. What a rare little thing he was, so submissive, so compliant, and so patient. 

Maybe a little too patient for her taste. She tugged one of his hands forward to settle on her hip. As utterly entranced and obedient and polite as he was, Castiel’s hands had stopped moving those big warm hands and it was starting to irritate her.

He couldn't help, but shiver when her lips made contact. The arrow-like accuracy she displayed for reading him, finding that particular hot spot so quickly, would probably be his complete undoing, he was sure of that. 

Still his head bobbed up and down a moment before he muttered, "Yes, Meg" again.

When she raised his hand to her hip, it curled over the generous curve and fingers slipped along the silky edge of her thong. Castiel sighed as he felt the liquid motion of her body, the sinewy way she swayed back against him then forward, in circles, figure eights, mysterious sigils he couldn't translate because she was writing them, the tiny tension that tensed and relaxed in each muscle as Meg moved.

"Dangerous," he muttered again, without meaning to, as he smoothed his hand around and forward to flatten over her taut stomach, not pressing, just following the slide of her skin as she shifted smoothly back and forth and dragged his breath out of him in hitches now.

"Use both hands. Touch me, Cas," Meg quietly ordered in his ear then nipped at it, teasingly licked at the shell. With a slow roll of her torso, a fluid wave that started at her shoulders and shimmied downward, she undulated back quite deliberately to rub against his very prominent hard on.

"Yes, Meg," he husked on automatic; he'd say it as many times as she wanted him to, as long as she kept moving like that and practically purring in his ear. He didn't care if she was acting at this point; she deserved an Oscar.

Castiel slid his other hand around to join the first and glided them up her stomach, darting, caressing carefully, assiduously. His hands wanted to know each subtle hollow and dangerous curve of her ribs, they skirted just under her breasts, dipped into the crease under each soft swell, then drifted down with fingers spread to whisper over the silky skin of her stomach, then the border of her thong, the lacy catch of her garters, the texture of those fishnet thigh highs, the quiver of her muscles as she moved. His hand journeyed up again each time she swayed into him and rode the coiled wave of her body attentively. When she rocked sensually back into him, it took everything he had to keep his body still, except for his hands and speeding breath.

Appreciative mewls in his ear, hand hard in his messy hair, and Meg focused on his slightly labored breathing, the minute moans at the end of each exhale. So much restraint, she thought, she’d break him of that and she eased into a steady, relentless, building grind. It didn’t take a genius to tell he was an ass man, and she knew exactly what he wanted, even if he was still too shy to say it. She knew he longed to push back, to let those little abortive flexes of his hips he restrained so politely mature into thrusts. He’d been so good, she’d reward him.

“Mmm, Caasss,” she moaned right in his ear with a strong, firm, lingering grind against his hardness.

He was caught up in appreciating her body, or more accurately worshipping it, his hands gliding over her, panting heavily when he caught a whiff of her hair as she tossed it. Hanging on every single one of the sultry noises she was made, Castiel forgot to pay enough attention to controlling himself.

"…Meg…” he gasped when she moaned his name, a hitch in his own voice he recognized too late. “Oh…don’t…please sto-" he stammered, but it was too late. When she laughed low in her throat and performed one more wicked wiggle, just the way he’d wanted all night since she sashayed away from him earlier, he almost tried to push her off. It was BAD and so so good. With one last sweet grind against him Castiel broke, his forehead pressing hard against her shoulder as he came. After a moment of harsh breathing his head lolled back against the sofa. He tensed then twitched a few times in succession and swam in the endorphin haze before reality came back to him. 

Castiel went very very still, face flushed scarlet.

Meg chuckled to herself, all too aware of Cas’s reaction. Rolling off him to the side, she leaned back against the armrest of the sofa and propped her bare feet on his nearest thigh. She made a show of glancing obviously at the growing wet spot on his dress slacks and wagged a finger at Cas.

"Oh dear. You seem to have enjoyed that a little too much, hun. That's gonna be a problem," she tsked.

Aw, the poor thing, he looked so mortified. Meg grinned and ran her tongue over her teeth in amusement. He certainly wasn’t the first man to get his rocks off like that, she was a professional, after all, and was damn good at working a guy up until he exploded, sometimes literally, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. The rumpled, quiet nerd wasn't in any real trouble, but it was so fun to tease him. Meg just loved the play emotions over his face at this moment, earlier he’d worked so hard at the expressionless mask. He looked so horrifyingly chagrined, it was downright adorable in a slightly pathetic way, she thought.

Castiel raised one hand to cover his eyes and the other to push up to sit uncomfortably straight, as he tried regain whatever dignity he hadn't completely lost the second he laid eyes on Meg. His lips thinned into a line as his jaw clenched shut. 

Meg continued to smirk, one finger playfully twisting a lock of her hair as she watched him quietly die internally of embarrassment. “Mm, too bad 'clean up' wasn't involved in our negotiation. Maybe next time, huh? Oh, there's a bathroom for you to freshen up in down the hall if you need it." 

She playfully rubbed a foot on the inside of his knee before kicking her legs off of his to stand, fingers flitting over what was left of her outfit to make sure nothing had popped loose. "We're done right?” she said idly. “See you next week, Cas?"

Slowly, Castiel lowered the hand from his eyes and stared at her. She had to be joking. Sure, she was standing there with an amused expression on her face, but she seemed...highly entertained for some reason, rather than offended or disgusted. He almost asked her to repeat that, but his tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth again. So he just shrugged then turned to quickly gather up his suit jacket and overcoat, fingers hurriedly doing up the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey, I asked you a question, babe,” Meg said sharply, fingers flicking his chin as he tried to duck it and not look at her. “You gonna come see me again or what?" 

When he straightened up she was a little taken aback by how tall he really was when he wasn’t slouching, of course she was on her flat stocking covered feet. Didn’t matter, she wasn’t easily impressed, and glared up at him, eyes sharp, but mouth quirked a little bit, a sassy little smirk she knew nearly always worked. "Was that not worth coming back for?" A tiny hint of a tone implied possible hurt feelings if he didn’t answer in a positive way. So easy to work over; the sweet ones usually were.

His eyes landed on her face only a moment before they slid to the side as he eased his trench back on. "Yes, Meg," but he amended quickly in case she thought he was insulting her...work. She was very good at it. Scarily good. 

"I mean...yes...I'll come back."

Her smirk softened a smidge and she shooed his hands away, so she could button the top of his shirt for him. Snagging the tied from his lax fingers, she looped it around his neck and neatly wound it into a perfect knot, patting down the end as she spoke. "I work most nights during the week. The busy businessman needs some relief during Monday through Friday just as much as a party guy does on the weekends." She chuckled and gently tightened it a bit more, forcing his chin up once again so he was looking at her face instead of at the floor.

"And next time, babe, dig a little deeper in your pockets and we’ll see if I can make any ‘accidents’ easier to manage, ‘kay?" She slapped him lightly on the cheek once she let go of his tie.

He held very very still under her hands, completely baffled at her demeanor. She was...tidying him up, smiling in a relaxed fashion like he hadn't just committed the #1 sin of the strip club and also acted like a junior high boy with no self-control.

He stared down at her puzzled, the last time he’d…gotten ahead of himself in a situation like this, said something a little unguarded even, the working girl had thrown something at him and stormed out to sick security on him. Meg seemed completely unfazed.

He couldn't help the additional flush that stole over his face at her offer of ‘extra consideration’ for his next visit in case he...well, that was something to think about. He nodded once, slowly, before he ducked his head and turned for the door. He'd skip the bathroom; he wasn't going to be caught in there by another patron trying to clean up. He simply flipped the edge of his trench in front of him.

"Hey! Were you raised in a barn?” Meg’s tone was commanding, as she cocked one hip and tapped her foot, appearing so very put out. “It's rude to not at least say goodbye to a lady, especially after showing you such a good time.” She laughed internally when Cas’ back went ramrod straight again; he was just too easy to mess with.

He froze with one hand on the door. Castiel wasn’t rude, not deliberately so at least, and not in situations where it wasn’t called for. He was just somewhat pathologically inept around women, especially outside of work.

Tiny she might be, but her attitude was vast and undeniable. He leaned down and spoke near her ear so he wouldn't have to see her grinning at him.

"Thank you for...the lovely evening."

Well that was unexpected, Meg thought. That stiff formality and way his deep, gravelly voice sent a little fission down her spine.

"You're very welcome, Castiel. Can’t wait to see you again,” she replied back a little cheekily to compensate. She popped up on her tiptoes to plant a little kiss his cheek. It was the small touches that made her clients swoon, especially when they thought they were being given special treatment.

His eyes widened at the cool press of her lips to his cheek once more; he firmly stamped down the compulsion to touch his face. Straightening up he nodded before pulling open the door. He remembered just before he ducked out to mutter, "Goodnight, Meg."

When the door closed she outright laughed. He was a bit of a weirdo, but a harmless one. 

Her eyes fell on the floor and she stooped to snatch up the bills that had fallen from her garter during that vigorous bump and grind routine. Licking her lips, her fingers greedily flicked through the money with practiced ease, counting quickly.

“Oh yeah, come on up and see me anytime, Cas.” She kissed a fifty, leaving a bright red imprint on old Grant’s face as she snagged her bra from the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken him several days to get around to checking his bank balance, work had been hell. The autumnal equinox always brought out the pagan crazies who got themselves mixed up in witchcraft and half-mad demi-gods. Castiel rubbed his nose as he regarded the numbers on the screen and looked around his loft, wondering where the hell his money went, until he remembered to click on his savings balance and relaxed. He lived pretty simply; he didn't have many interests outside of his job, unless one counted his collection. His careful selection of the esoteric artifacts and arcane texts was a source of no small pride for him. It composed a rather neat and powerful toolkit for his work as a supernatural investigator. His only other indulgences were when he originally purchased and outfitted his home a few years back because damnit he worked hard and deserved a comfortable sofa and bed and coffee machine that made the caffeinated equivalent of rocket fuel, a half dozen pairs of really good running shoes, and the occasional quick trip to New York for the weekend to visit his sister. His car was a bit dated but reliable and customized to his needs, his clothes uninspired and ordered online, his meals taken mostly on the run between home, the office and field work, and his hobbies cost little because he had none.

"Well," he muttered to himself as he peered at the balance, "I'm in no danger of going broke at least." The vampire job he'd worked the last 3 days had drained him, thankfully not literally, but he was still buzzing from the adrenaline of staking the nest leader and the coffee he'd chugged like vitamin water during the stakeout. He wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. And it was Tuesday.

_She said she worked weeknights. Meg._

A little alarm sounded in his head at the thought of her. Dangerous. Of course he'd heard that alarm about 25 times since last week. When he was driving, lying in bed at 3am trying to sleep, in the shower. Quite a few times in the shower. So he'd become used to ignoring it.

Meg hadn't thought about her quiet flasher coat wearing customer as much as he'd thought of her. Actually, he’d only crossed her mind once when she mistook another man in a tan duster for him. She generally didn't think about her customers until they were in front of her face; they were only walking wallets and when off the clock they vanished entirely from her mind, nothing worth remembering most of the time.

Castiel immediately scanned the interior for Meg upon entering. When he didn’t see her right away he reminded himself it was a large place with a lot of dim corners, so he perched at the bar and ordered a double of scotch neat and decided to be patient.

"First come first serve, asshole! Now get the hell out of here!" Meg glared harshly at a man who’d attempted to literally pull her off another man's lap because he wanted his turn then whipped out her and slapped him hard. After that it took only a few seconds for the meaty bouncers to drag him away and toss him on the sidewalk, after rolling him for his wallet to take his ID and tack it to the Wall of Shame at the front. She sighed in aggravation and took a deep breath to reset her game face before she grinned merrily at the customer underneath her.

"Sorry about that, hun, he won't bother us again. He’s blacklisted forever and a day. Now…where were we?" she purred in his ear and picked up where she left off, her enthusiasm a little diminished, but her earnings weren’t. Clearly the guy appreciated Meg popping the guy who tried to basically rob him of his dance as he tucked another twenty in her cleavage.

Castiel craned his neck and half rose from his chair as he watched Meg wrench her arm back from some idiot who tried to forcibly claim her attention; he almost headed over there, to do what he wasn't sure, before he remembered that was what bouncers were for. One corner of his mouth hitched minutely when she laid a solid slap to the guy's face, she looked like she had practice, and the man was hustled out the door in a very rough manner by the club muscle. Meg returned to bestowing her charms on one lucky bastard as if nothing unusual at all had occurred.

Castiel frowned; it probably wasn't actually unusual, a lot of guys in strip clubs could be drunk assholes and think the women were property to be manhandled at will. He thought of them more as...service providers, wonderful ones at that, who should be treated with a lot more respect.

Meg was occupied, possibly for a while, and he knew deliberately trying to get her attention when she didn't want to give it was a bad idea, so Castiel he moved to one of the seats by a small pole stage and decided to at least give his eyes something to watch besides Meg's hips swaying. The dancer up there had a sweet face and golden hair that lit up around her head like a halo. He stared up at her for a long minute until she bent over to give him a real eyeful and informed him her name was Jo.

Meg worked 3 songs and a decent stack of the guy underneath her before she needed a break and slipped off his lap with a smile as she tucked folded and creased bills more securely into tonight's outfit. Dark red frilly panties, a matching red and black patent leather corset, black sheer panty hose with those lovely old fashioned seams up the back that always made her feel a touch more glamorous, and her favorite red bow shoes. She tossed her loose hair back from her face with a quick twist of her neck and ran her fingers through it briefly. She liked to wear it down most often, streaming over her back, unless she had on her school girl getup. Pigtails were a pain and, thankfully, she didn’t get too many requests for that costume, except for fetish night.

She blew a few offhanded kisses to the men who catcalled her on the way to the bar; the girls got free drinks up to a certain point, mostly to calm some of the newbies nerves. Meg just enjoyed the free alcohol. She rested her elbows on the bar, grinning at the bartender who started making her drink as soon as she caught his eye.

"You're such a sweetheart, Ash." The man with a mullet handed her whiskey on the rocks. Meg hissed happily at the yummy burn down her throat of the first swallow and wiggled in appreciation. Back to the stages and patrons, she idly chatted and flirted with Ash while enjoying her short break.

Despite a lap full of angelically faced Jo and what he was sure were enhanced tits, Castiel's eyes drifted over her shoulder when he saw a flash of pale skin and dark hair pass by. He didn't want to be rude to the woman on his lap; she was clearly a rather earnest about making pleasing him into coughing up another $20, a little painfully so considering how slender (borderline bony) she was. Cas flicked his eyes back to Jo and found it easy to keep his hands on the chair's armrests rather than resting them on her slightly too sharp hips. She was all soft sweet eyes and hard angles everywhere else, and he shifted a bit under her when Jo ground down a little too hard, which only made her redouble her gyrations as she misread him. Castiel let his head fall back a bit and closed his eyes halfway to steal another stealthy glance at Meg, who was now leaning over the bar. Her pert behind was on display, framed perfectly by scarlet ruffles and a wicked looking corset that only emphasized the hourglass of her figure.

Castiel almost flinched when Jo leaned forward to coo, a little too sugary, in his ear that she could tell how much he was enjoying himself. For once he thanked his reflexive retreat into silence when it came to women, because there was no way he was going to tell her those machinations weren't what was making him harden under her, but the subtle back and forth wiggle of Meg's ass and those black seams up the back of her stockings that drew his eyes like a laser down her legs. Fuck, she was wearing the red bow shoes.

He dragged his eyes back to Jo and finally noticed the song was over. She looked at him expectantly, so he handed over another bill. He thought that was a decent tip. She was better than Ruby if a bit rough. Apparently Jo thought that was a request for another song spent rubbing a little too hard in his lap. Her perfume was too cloying, but she was nice and earnest and he had a gut feeling she needed tuition money, so he let her stay.

Meg laughed at another one of Ash's oddly genius rants about the latest conspiracy theory racing around the internet as she finished off her drink. "Damn drink's gone, and I should be too. Catch ya later, Ash!" She turned to eye the crowd for a moment before her eyes caught on Jo. Meg stifled a snort, whomever that girl had pinned did not look like he was enjoying himself, even from this distance. She shrugged, wasn’t her business. Some guys liked it. Crazy guys.

She wandered through the crowd, a languid roll in her hips she managed to make look as casual as it was entirely deliberate, until a businessman oozing confidence and a killer smile caught her gaze. Time to investigate, she decided and strode over to him, flicking her hair over one shoulder before standing in front of him, her hands on her hips.

"What's your name, honey?"

The man grinned and laid back, "Dick Roman, sugar. I'm sure you've heard of me"

One dark eyebrow arched. "Oh, I have, definitely. Surprised to see a guy like you in here. Don’t you have an army of mistresses to keep you entertained?”

Castiel didn't know the song playing, but he prayed it would be a short one and not along the lines Bohemian Rhapsody because Meg was moving across the floor now. She was free, and Jo was now blocking his view when she leaned forward, and-

"Ow." He flinched when she caught the wrong angle and things...bent a bit. Thankfully she stopped immediately and gave him an awkward, but still charming, smile and asked if he was okay. He shrugged and shifted, hoping she got the message this time and off his lap before she broke something, offering her a smaller bill as his own apology for being...himself, he guessed. Jo stood between his legs, fingers playing coyly with a lock of blonde hair, tilted her head in the direction of the private rooms and hinted she'd be happy to make it up to him.

Meg was around here somewhere. He leaned to the side to try to spot her and caught a glimpse of tempting red ruffles on the other side of the stage behind Jo. Damn, she was already talking to another customer. His window of opportunity was closing. He glanced up at Jo, now reconsidering because she was nothing if not...enthusiastic and was unlikely to bleed his wallet dry tonight. Then the lights from the stage flashed, and he saw whom Meg was chatting up.

_Dick Roman._

A low growl rumbled out of him at the sight of that malicious prick, the Winchester's chief rival. He actually trapped demons to do his agency's work, which masqueraded as a special investigations service, but leaned more towards the criminal end of the spectrum and routinely engaged in client extortion. Manners be damned, Castiel waved Jo off hurriedly, tucking a smaller bill in her garter to hasten her departure, and shoved up to make a beeline in Roman's direction. He wasn't going to cause a scene, but he also wasn't going to give the asshole an opportunity at Meg. She had no idea the level of scumbag sitting in front of her, all gussied up in Italian silk.

He veered to the right just before he reached Roman, measured his pace, and passed slowly behind Dick's chair, eyes fastened on Meg. Making sure she saw him, he dipped his fingers his suit pocket and slowly pulled out a fat fold of crisp currency.

She was well deep into some flirty negotiations with Dick when a movement caused her to look up. Meg’s eyes caught on Mr. Roboto…oh yeah, Castiel. That was his name. Her gaze followed him, a smidge curious, until she saw the large roll of bills. She knew the man would give her that whole roll if she asked the way he liked; she didn't know Dick's type or how well he tipped yet. A lot of rich guys were stingy as shit.

“Riiight, Dick, honey, I think I know the perfect girl for you," Meg drawled as she looked around till she spotted the blonde she needed and hollered. "Jo! Darling, come here!" Jo enthusiastically hurried over, still topless from her last dance and smiling brightly as a sunbeam.

"Jo, this is Mr. Dick Roman. I told him how much you love a guy in a good suit," Meg said in a confidential manner, like she was letting slip a dirty little secret and Dick sat up, clearly interested, with a wolfish grin and patted his lap for Jo to perch there. Hook, line, sinker.

Meg backed away with a perky wave then hurried over to Castiel, glaring playfully. "You just made me give up Dick Roman, Cas. You better be worth it tonight."

He kept his eyes on Roman until he was satisfied the man's attention was fully consumed by Jo and hadn't noticed him. Good, he thought a bit maliciously, maybe she'd break Dick’s dick off; Jo might have a career in that if she didn't weigh barely 110 pounds.

Then he dropped his eyes to Meg and inhaled briskly at the challenging look she gave him. She smelled like cinnamon, it was nice. Everything about her was, even the way she made his stomach lurch a bit sideways when she grinned like a predator.

"Yes, Meg" he said automatically, turning so his back was to Roman and he was facing the entry to the VIP curtains. He wanted to get them both out of sight before the jerk saw them and decided to engage in a pissing match in the club. Wouldn't be the first time, Dick and Castiel had history, none of it good.

The additional benefit was getting Meg to himself, all her formidable and, frankly, daunting attention on him. He wanted something to focus on besides the tension in his back, the slight ache in his probably sprained dick, and all things work related. He knew she could do that because he couldn't think of anything else but her when she was so close.

She didn't take his hand this time but allowed him to follow her to a private room. Once the door shut behind them Meg settled her hands on her hips as she looked him over.

"... You seem even tenser than last week. What's up, babe?" She strolled up to him, with no regard for personal space, and pushed off his coat to toss it on the arm of the couch and flitted her fingers back to curl in the lapels of his dark suit jacket, sliding if off his shoulders with a practiced motion. "Hm? Come on, Cas, use your big boy words and talk to me." She grinned at him as she ran her tongue over her teeth and watched him swallow.

He stood dumbly as her hands darted over him, quickly divesting him of his outer layers. It was an overly familiar gesture for a dancer, but he didn't mind one bit. She touched him in a weirdly solicitous way, asked how he was doing.

He paused, started to shrug. There was no way she cared; it was a way to suss out what he wanted probably. Strippers, the good ones, were often very good at reading body language and used it to draw their clients in; it was how they made a living.

However, he knew she became waspish when he didn't answer a direct question, and he wasn't quite in the mood for attitude, not yet. "Work," he muttered. "...long shifts."

She unbuttoned the top two of his dress shirt then flattened her hands on his chest. ”Not really talking to me yet, huh? Am I going to have to work every little word out of you tonight, babe?" Her previously gentle hands suddenly turned firm and pushed him back, knocking him off balance to sit heavily on the couch, and she immediately straddled his lap.

"How relaxed you wanna get, hun? You look like you have enough in your pocket to feel soooooo much better." A not entirely subtle negotiation, but Cas seemed to be a quick study, even if he was a little too stubborn for her taste about saying things outright.

He stifled a small flinch at the abrupt motion.

Jo really needed lessons or something. Didn't matter how sweet she was, you don't sprain a guy's dick.

Thankfully Meg let her lovely thighs spread over his and take her weight. She was good that way, maybe not quite good enough to relax him very well tonight, now that he was anxious about the state of his junk. Still, he needed to keep her in here and out of Dick's range, so one hand fished into his jacket and withdrew his money.

He fumbled to find something to say, buying time by counting off a a few fifties and holding them up. "I like the red...the ruffles....very flattering." Great, he had a drop dead gorgeous woman sitting on him, wanting to make him feel good, and he was critiquing her clothes. Castiel almost face-palmed himself for being completely inept.

Her smile broadened as she watched his fingers slip past bill after bill, and she was happy to relieve him of them with a quick flick of her hand, stuffing them down her cleavage.

"Glad you like it. Maybe I’ll buy some more things like this.” She tilted her head as she lifted a finger to trace up from the opening of his shirt, along his neck then across his jaw line. “Wear them just for you next time you’re come to visit.” Always give them a reason to come back.

"Did you come straight to me tonight, babe? Or did someone already start you off?" She appreciated a little loyalty in her regulars; it was also helpful to know how hard she was going to have to work. If another girl already got him to half mast it would save her some time and effort. Gotta be practical.

He shifted under her when she asked, but stilled when one finger rasped lightly over his unshaven chin. Would she be one of those demanding working girls who expected absolute loyalty or was she flexible?

He didn't know. He supposed he was about to find out.

"...You were...occupied....Jo was..." he trailed off. Castiel couldn't bad mouth her co-worker, for all he knew they were friends, or gossipy. He didn't need to alienate anyone here; he liked this place. "She was...enthusiastic.”

"Oh you poor thing.” Meg made a sympathetic noise, so amused. “Did she hurt you? That girl is known as a bruiser, babe. Not her fault though, some guys really like it." Her hands drifted down his torso to start gently tugging his shirt out of his pants. “Want me to see what I can do to make it better? Give you a little T.L.C.?" She gave him a look from under her lashes, the hint of a teasing smile quirking up one side of her mouth.

His eyes automatically scanned the room but, of course, they were alone. He knew any good club had surveillance to keep the women safe especially in the back rooms. He was usually the one who did the watching and the notion of perhaps being under scrutiny at this very moment wasn’t appealing. But Meg offered something he was sure he wanted to take her up on. He could justify it to himself that the longer they were in here the more likely it was Roman would be gone when they emerged. It was a thin excuse, he knew that.

"Yes, Meg...and next time... I'll wait for you." He realized that passed as a promise and, in the future, he'd probably sit in a chair alone all night just for the chance to snag a one-song lap dance from her in the main room.

"That's very sweet of you, babe. I appreciate it.” Excellent, now she wouldn’t have to worry about splitting tips with anyone. “Now just relax… Let Meg make you feel all better, hm?"

It was always up to the ladies how far they wanted to go, and club management feigned willful ignorance as long as it took place behind the heavy curtains leading to the VIP section. But that didn’t mean a close eye wasn’t kept on the goings-on back there. Every room had a subtle call button on the wall behind the couch painted the same color as the wall, a pretty easy place to get to if a customer got too demanding. Of course, every private room also had a hidden camera in it for added security for the ladies. If a customer got too shirty if also allowed a little video incentive to get them to back off in case their wife or boss saw it. Insurance was always a good idea.

Meg was plenty capable of handling things on her own and rarely needed anyone to step in or to her defense. She’d solidified her reputation early one as an accommodating performer, but one with some pretty thick lines that said “do not cross” after she broke a guy’s nose when he stuck his hand down the front of her panties during a lap dance on the main floor. Honestly, some people had no manners at all.

She kept a close eye on Cas’ reactions; the guy clearly had issues with being undressed, most of them did. But she'd learned quickly the right amount of pressure to apply to make him compliant, just enough to bring him to the edge where he could trip back and forth between want and restraint. So she let his shirt be, his tie loosened and hanging limp around his neck, as her fingers dipped down to slip just above his belt, nails scraping his hips lightly.

"You just listen to me, and I’ll show you a wonderful time, Cas,” she promised, but always with a caveat. “If you get at all uncomfortable you use those big boy words to let me know and we’ll work something else out, ok?” She watched his face as she undid his belt. He didn’t protest and only blinked at her owlishly. She almost laughed, he looked so ridiculously innocent despite it being obvious to her that he wasn’t exactly a novice at backroom negotiations, even if he wasn't great at it considering how generously he tossed his money at her. She was already well ahead of her projected take for a Tuesday night.

"Yes, Meg," he said quietly, trying to relax as her hands skimmed under the hem of his dress shirt to meander over his stomach. It was challenging, to say the least, but he was grateful she didn't push his shirt any higher. The ritual circular scar on his abdomen freaked out most women, including the usually unflappable higher end escorts who thought they had a freak with a cutting fetish on their hands.

Usually his instincts, his abilities to read people, were damn good; not in this case. Women, especially gorgeous ones in red bow shoes and seamed hose and ruffled panties, made his brain vapor lock. Meg had already overthrown a couple of his assumptions about her, what with the sarcastic tone but friendly hands. Whatever she was offering he would be thrilled to receive, short of one of those sharp slaps to the face. Then again...he'd have a sore spot to remind himself of her the following day that would be way better than the one Jo gave him.

Meg’s fingers moved, once she was sure of his silent but tacit permission, and she slowly slipped his belt free, slid his zipper down and the quiet noise seemed so much louder in here. She watched his face closely, that was always her favorite part. Their expressions could never lie to her and the men always seemed to appreciate the eye contact, often right up to and past the point where she made them uncomfortable. She enjoyed that, the way they often broke their gaze first, eyes sliding down to safer areas.

Red nails tweaked the elastic of boring blue boxers and she chuckled. “And here I was hoping you had a wild man under your starched collar, Cas,” she murmured. “Thought you’d have some cartoon characters or little hearts tucked away…but you’re exactly what you appear, aren’t you, babe?” It came off as the sort of backhand compliment she excelled in. Next time she saw him she would bet even money he’d have on some quirky boxers under his suit. Men were so predictable.

Cas started to duck his head when she saw the pink flush creeping up his cheeks. She followed and tucked a finger under his chin to keep his eyes on her as wormed one hand under his waistband and touched.

Her mouth popped open in a little O of genuine surprise, and she looked down as she pulled his member free and made a loose circle with her fingers. “…or not. Cas, darling, you’ve been holding out on me.”

Hot damn, her little uptight tax accountant was packing some serious heat.

"Yes, Meg" he mumbled then almost face palmed himself because, god, that sounded arrogant. As if he was proud of his Tyrannosaurus prick, like it was something he'd earned for being really good at sports or math. Instead he just clenched his jaw tighter and breathed through his nose when her lips parted in surprise...perhaps a little appreciative curiosity?

She spoke low, soft, like sharing a little secret between just the two of them. "No girlfriend, Cas? You can’t have one, she’d never let you out of the house with a piece like this." She punctuated her statement with a firm squeeze to his package then a lingering stroke that allowed her to slip her thumb over the sensitive head.

Reel them in with the compliments, fawn over things they can’t help, build up even the most pathetic attribute to something admirable and most men would toss nearly every last dime to her just to feel like they mattered to someone. Everyone wanted to feel special. 

Meg knew this and that was why she was very good at what she did. She cherry picked her favorites, played all her little games and machinations to make them regulars and usually loyal to just her, laid on the compliments but with just a hint of sardonic humor so the men never felt entirely complacent with her. It paid to make them feel that she could push them away anytime, that she’d get bored of them and move on to greener pastures and bigger wallets if they didn’t show proper appreciation in the form of bigger and bigger tips.

And Cas, oh the quiet little dear, he was becoming one of her favorites. He spent so much and asked for so little. He actually asked for almost nothing and instead seemed silently accepting of whatever she stingily offered. For the amount of money he’d coughed up so far tonight he could’ve had a lot more than what she was currently providing, but he’d have to ask for it and she knew he wouldn’t.

Castiel shook his head, a fraction of an inch to the left then right, when she asked then answered her own question about him having a girlfriend, and his eyes never left her face. The way her lips curled around each syllable, the left corner ticking up at the end of each sentence, it was what he now thought of as her signature smirk. Like she knew something no one else did. She was certainly knowledgeable, definitely Ph.D. level in how to rile a man up, considering the careful but assured way her thumb circled the head of his cock. She brushed over every nerve in just the right way to get him shifting under her.

Girlfriend, that was laughable. He'd have to talk enough to a woman outside of the job to have one of those, and his social skills were so rusty they'd oxidized. His work kept completely demented and unpredictable hours, in addition to requiring a lot of literal blood and sweat and the occasional tear, leaving him with a complete lack of energy and interest in pursuing such a thing. Relationships required a lot of work, or so he heard. He’d never gotten around to actually trying to have one. His life didn’t exactly lend itself to many attachments; too many forcible separations by distance, dismemberment, and/or death squelched his desire to form any significant relationships long ago.

Pretty women came and went in his life in the form of necessary transactions, for the purpose of working off job stress and loneliness. It had been a viable game plan for as long as he could remember.

Very viable as Meg's daring hand gave a leisurely twist that made his eyelids flutter and his eyes roll back in his head a second.

"I’d say ‘awww what a shame’, Cas, I really would,” she nodded, shifting to settle a bit more comfortably on his lap as her hand started a steady cadence, “But no girlfriend means I get aaaaaall of your attention" she accentuated the statement with a firm twist of her palm over the head of his cock. When a strangled little noise broke loose from the man under her she grinned. 

Cas had started off so closed off and he was a slowly opening but still predictable book. A slightly dusty one, probably one of those old National Geographics, dry but with nice pictures.

Amused by her own train of thought, Meg peeked down and licked her teeth before adding a second hand to the mix, pushing his boxers further out of the way to give her room to work.

Castiel’s eyes dropped down to his lap but quickly rolled away when she gave a particularly clever twist to the hand now working over his balls; there was no way he was going to last very long if he focused on that. She felt so good, he couldn't bear the idea of losing control like last time and going off like a horny teenager. He’d prefer it lasted longer this time.

His right hand fluttered up to lightly land on her shoulder, but he immediately jerked it away; he'd not been given permission to touch her tonight. The urge was so strong he needed to distract himself when she did something with her hand that made him rolls his hips up and under her in a slow motion. "Ngh...no...no boyfriend...you don't have one?" It came out sounding like quavering statement rather than a question.

There was no way any guy lucky enough to be with Meg would be okay with her doing this to rumpled strangers in a strip club. She definitely struck Castiel as the sort that would dump a guy hard in a second if he tried to control her. She probably didn't put up with crap from guys or anyone. He felt confident he knew at least that about her. It was probably the only thing he was sure of, other than she was giving him the best hand job of his life.

"Shhh, babe, that’s classified info,” Meg leaned in to mutter by his ear, distracting him with a quicker tempo, rocking her hips forward so when her hand slid up to tease his head again his cock brushed against the scarlet ruffles of her panties. Always remind them just how close they were, but still so far away. “You just focus…or don’t you like what I’m doing?” The pouting tone to her voice always worked, like her feelings were just so hurt. Like she actually had them.

Her personal life, such as it was, was no one’s business, especially not a client’s. She worked hard, she saved even harder. No one got in because they weren’t needed. She had her job and her retirement plans and that was all that mattered. When she got out of here and far away, then she’d make time for the silly apple pie life. Until then, she dealt with people exactly as much as she needed to in order get what she needed from them; otherwise people were pretty useless to her. Money, the occasional one night stand to scratch one itch or another, that was all she needed. She was simpler than people thought.

"S-sorry, Meg," Castiel rasped out immediately when she clearly chastised him, anything to stay on her good side because it was sooooo so good right now. "Sorry," he mumbled again when her thumb stroked right over the tip and made a muscle in his jaw tick hard. He heard the creak of the sofa as his fingers dug into the leather, and he tried to flatten his hands so as not to damage but they curled again, fighting for something to do.

"Can I...touch you?" He mentally cursed himself; he really needed to shut up. Why was he so careless around her? Meg had some sort of ability to loosen his tongue, make him say things he didn’t intend let slip.

Meg smirked. This innocuous looking, nervous man had the sort of low gravelly voice that, if only he knew the right things to say, might get her on her knees. She wouldn't tip him off though, he had to figure it out on his own, and it seemed like he never would. That was fine by her, easiest money she’d made this month.

"You can if it'll get you off, Cas," she whispered as she mouthed the shell of his ear, egging him on. “You’ll do that for me, right? Just give it up for me, babe? Mmmhmm.” Act like she was just so proud of him for being a needy, horny dork and Cas would do just about anything she’d ask. Empty his wallet anytime now.

"Yes, Meg," he said quickly, croakily, and slid his hands over the cool leather to the knees bracketing his hips. Every time her hands made a sinful circuit along his length, his fingers lightly tripped over silky stockings. When she caught his balls and rolled them he couldn't stop the hum of pleasure deep in his chest or the glide of his palms up to her hips, pads of his pinky and ring finger catching on the sensual scratch of blood red ruffles while the others spread over the leather encasing her waist.

When her hot breath ghosted his ear, it took nearly everything he had not to tilt his face closer to her. Instead he ghosted his hand up the backs of her arms, relished the flex and pull of tight lithe muscles as they moved and wrung abortive little pants from him and zinged sparks up his spine.

Each time her tongue flicked out, his fingers moved higher, barely touching the curves of her tight bound breasts, ghosted over bare shoulders to slide through soft, scented hair. Eventually his right hand found the back of her neck and rested hesitantly there, fingers drawing light circles through the downy hair at the nape in counterpoint to the now quickening up and down stutter of his hips under her nimble fingers.

She rolled her neck and head into his hand, answering his sounds with her own quiet moans. Never hurt to let a guy think she was having almost as much fun as him. Ok, a little neck rub was kinda nice, better than the grab-ass most of the guys wanted to play.

"Come on, babe, let me see it, Cas,” she purred. His hips shifted under her, a quick jolt upwards that lifted them both off the sofa for a moment. Yeah, not hard at all reading him now. And the guy clearly had a scooch more core strength that she would have guess under that rumpled suit. Cookie for him.

She tilted her head to mouth his neck lightly, barely touching his skin with her lips. Her thighs squeezed, one hand rolled and lifted his balls as they tightened, the other efficiently stripping him of every last bit of restraint with quick twists and deft strokes. “Please.”

He wanted to drag this out longer, all night, well into next week as if that was conceivably possible. But then she said "please" so prettily in his ear and he would be damned if she didn't sound like she genuinely wanted nothing more than for him to feel good, and he was done for.

She was a world class actress, worthy of Sundance, he knew that. The sooner he got off the quicker she could take his money and slip away, but the knowledge didn't sour the experience for him one bit. Not when her lips started darting over his neck and she made that soft keening noise like she wanted this as much as he did.

"Oh...oh...yes, Meg..." Castiel barely worked her name past gritted teeth. He couldn't refuse such a pretty plea like that, not when she was pushing nearly every single button he had at the same time. His fingers skittered unevenly over her skin, tangling briefly in her hair when he jerked under her ministrations. He cast his head back and nearly choked on the loud moan that tried to escape him as he came.

Her mouth hovered over his neck as he spent himself in her practiced hand and, she noted, on his crumpled dress shirt.

"Mm, yes, babe, that's it," she muttered against his neck until she’d drawn every last drop of pleasure from him with slowly gentling fingers and his hips stopped twitching. Settling back on his thighs she lifted her head and smirked at him. Aw, he looked younger now with all those pesky frown lines around his mouth and worry creases in his forehead smoothed away.

"Told you I could make you feel better, Cas,” she reminded him almost primly. She went to flick her hair back over her shoulder and made a show of gasping. Oh dear, her hands were such in such a state. “Aw, you made a mess, tsk tsk.” She wagged a finger at him and smiled smugly to herself as his dazed eyes followed the movement automatically.

Well, she had offered and he’d paid. She locked eyes on his as she slipped her tongue out, making a show of slowly licking up the side of her index finger. She almost wiggled in delight at the tiny choked noise Cas made and his eyes widened almost comically.

His dazed semi-smile dropped when Meg raised her messy fingers and slid her tongue out, eyes holding his and...licked. His mouth hung open instead. "You don't have t-" he stuttered then stopped, eyes glued to the pink point of her tongue, the absolutely lewd and delightful way it slid over one side of her finger then other and he licked his own lips in response, completely oblivious to any and every other thing in the room, the club, the entire world. "Holy..."

She made a quiet moan like this was a special treat Cas made just for her. Guys just loved that but, seriously, it made Meg wonder just how little blood was left in their brains once they got their rocks off. Come was not yummy, at all, it was wet and sticky and sometimes a bit funky depending on what the guy ate and, hello, diseases. But one little lick wouldn’t hurt, not when Cas had ponied up that much dough.

He seemed to appreciate it, given the breathless look on his face and that fact that he didn’t even blink when she gave him a cocky smirk, snickered, “Oops! So messy!" and used the hem of his shirt to wipe her hands as clean as she could get them. Definitely making a trip to the ladies' room and getting some hand sanitizer in here in the future, she noted to herself.

"Next time will be even better, I promise, babe," she finished with a jaunty tone as she tucked his wilting cock back into his pants, tugged his slacks up, buttoned them then backed off his lap, all with the brusque efficiency of someone who’d done that more times than she bothered to count. "Enjoy yourself, Cas?”

Castiel watched her with wide eyes; the only part of him moving, as she tucked him away, was the corner of his mouth twitching. He'd never seen anyone look so innocent yet positively sinful at the same time, like she was licking up a line of melted ice cream rather than his come. Then she turned devilish and smeared it on his clothes.

She said "next time"...with the promise of something even more enjoyable. Through the warm fizz of endorphins currently coloring his view, he really couldn’t think of what could possibly be better.

Unfortunately, he had to reacquaint himself with reality when Meg started backing up and he hastily removed his hands from her, not aware until just then that one was still behind her neck and rubbing idly along the nape. He didn't know where to put his hands and let them wander aimlessly in the air for a moment before settling on haphazardly re-buttoning his shirt while he nodded in response, too distracted to respond verbally.

She made a beckoning motion for him to stand up, then reached out and tugged his tie upwards to lead him. "C’mere, you little disaster, I'll do that for you.” He was easy to piece together, even more so than taking him apart, which was a cakewalk to her. She adjusted his pants until they sat neatly on his hips, swiftly re-buckled his belt, tucked his soiled shirt back into his slacks, all with an air of professional detachment.

He held still while she set him right. It was almost fascinating and weirdly fitting the way she stripped him down, turned him inside out, then put him back together again. All with a smile and an edge between businesslike and desirous that she swayed back and forth over easily. Although the latter was expertly feigned.

Send them away feeling wrecked but not looking it, was a good policy Meg adopted ages ago, just in case they had someone to answer to at home. Cas probably had his mother, she mentally snickered to herself.

"See you soon, right, Cas?” It wasn’t really a question, she knew he’d be back, but it didn’t hurt to let the fellow feel like he had a say in the matter.

He watched her lean over the sofa to pick up his discarded jack and coat, his eyes skating down to that exceptional ass accented by red ruffles that framed it just right. A perfect little heart he could have, in a way, as long as he paid for it.

"Yes, Meg," he said quietly then, after hesitating a moment, slipped another large bill into the back of her panties, just at the right dimple of her lower back.

She arched an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. "Did you want something else, babe?" she inquired as she reached back and pulled free the bill and flicked the end of his nose with it. He certainly had the look of a guy totally spent, but she could work with it. Maybe he wanted to talk, the dull ones usually did.

He leaned down, head tilted so he didn't have to see that smirk that would likely be the death of him and his bank account, and muttered. "Nothing just…thank you for...the lovely evening, Meg."

She paused, polished half smile dropping a bit. Well, hell, now he had to go and be all gentlemanly on her. She almost felt bad for smearing jizz on his shirt…almost. Her usual hard edged smile softened a tad, however. "You're certainly welcome, Cas.” She pushed him back a pace, just a reminder she was the one who decided on the distance and who closed it, then buttoned his shirt up properly and re-tied his tie, glancing up as she tightened it under his chin.

He had nice eyes, really blue. Kinda sad looking. Of course anyone's eyes would look sad with those hound dog bags under them. Guy probably needed more sleep. Her hand job would probably help with that. Men often crashed pretty hard after a good orgasm. Ah, well, her good deed for the night done, she held out his jacket, then his coat and helped him slip them over his shoulders.

Castiel slid into his usual work armament on auto-pilot, observing her face as she re-tied his tie with practiced movements. The way one dark eyebrow tipped up slightly as she wound the knot, the little quirk at the side of her mouth as she smoothed it flat down his chest, her face so much more interesting to watch this close up than the generous expanse of cleavage he could have observed if he'd just looked lower. He didn't look lower.

When she was done she patted his chest lightly, a clear dismissal. He turned for the door and got it halfway open before he remembered and looked over his shoulder. He enjoyed one last long look at her, noting the way a long thick tendril of hair fell over one shoulder and followed the line of her arm.

“Goodnight, Meg,” he muttered before slipping out, buttoning his suit jacket over his ruined shirt.

She chuckled, she couldn’t help it. Stuffy Cas, he learned quickly what she expected of him and didn't disappoint her. “Good boy,” she murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter the real plot begins, not that smutting isn't perfectly valid plotting. ^.^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot truly begins in this slightly shorter chapter than the previous ones. The next 3 are already written so there may be an update before next Saturday.

Castiel checked the address on his GPS one more time as he pulled his nondescript sedan alongside the curb in front of the 4 story walk-up. He squinted up at the building, it was really too early, he did his best work at night. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his head and ruffled his unbrushed hair up even further.

Dean, one of his bosses at the Winchester Agency, called him at what felt like the asscrack of dawn with a report of a sudden malevolent haunting that was a bit odd, even by their standards. It sounded like a spontaneous and intense manifestation, but with a noticeable lack in signs leading up to the event, which resulted in scaring the hell out of the reporting party. He barely had time brush his teeth before hustling out the door to the sound of Dean barking in his ear.

Castiel specialized in the odd cases because he was rather odd himself and had good instincts for the weird and arcane. He refused to call them hunches; it was simply years of experience coupled with a knowledge that if his skin prickled or his hair started raising it was for a damn good reason.

Shutting off the engine, Castiel flipped open his briefcase to do a quick inventory of its contents. A fairly standard sweeper kit for today: EVP/EMF detector, sanctified rosary, red candles made from rendered lamb's tallow, salt, iron asp, the usual.

There was no record of any previous tenants in the building being haunted, not even the unit where the new client, a Ms. Margaret Masters, resided. It wasn't like a ghost to simply pop up; there had to be some history tying it to the location. Something must have happened recently to disturb the spirit. Whether that was deliberate or accidental he couldn't even begin to figure out until he met the client, swept the place, and started researching.

He hastily chugged the rest of his coffee as he exited the vehicle, wincing at the burn on his tongue then again at the brown spot that appeared on his shirt to the right of his tie. Castiel sighed and buttoned his black suit jacket to cover the stain and started hiking up the steps to the 4th floor and the Masters’ residence, briefcase tucked under one arm.

Meg pinched the bridge of her nose, the universal gesture for weariness, as she checked the time on her phone from her seated spot on the floor at the end of the hallway.

_How damn long was this going to take?_

She was tired and she was irritated and her butt was falling asleep from sitting on the carpet outside her neighbor’s unit. At least the lady had been nice enough to offer Meg some crappy, and now cold, coffee while she waited for whomever the hell was coming to deal with this mess. Of course the courtesy wasn’t extended to inviting Meg inside, oh no, because her husband was there and Meg was still wearing her outfit from work last night. Like she was going back into her place to get some freaking sweatpants!

So here she sat, on the floor with no sleep, in black boy shorts, a rib-crushing half corset that pushed out her chest to put it on display way more than hold it in, and thigh high black socks. Meg glared down at her feet and her toes wiggled back; of course she was shoeless on top of everything else.

What working girl didn’t kick her shoes off the second she got home? Meg grumbled to herself about her stupid luck on that one. She was at least tiny smidge grateful she’d had the presence of mind to grab a robe as she hauled ass out the door.

She inhaled deeply from her cigarette, having fled with her pack in her hand, then flicked the ashes at her only marginally helpful neighbor’s door as she waited for the “expert” the woman called after Meg blurted out what she’d seen.

For all she knew the lady had contacted the guys with the butterfly nets and fancy jacket that buttoned up the back. But Meg KNEW what she saw. She wasn’t crazy! What she was was tired as hell, crabby, barefoot and half naked in a damn hallway and something was making her butt itch. She leaned to one side and wriggled her hand under her robe and down the back of her shorts to scratch and checked the time on her cell phone again.

"That fucker better get here soon,” she groused.

Castiel squinted as he took EMF readings from the front stoop all the way up the stairs until he reached the top floor. The faint flicker on the low end of the spectrum started out as hardly more than background radiation then jiggled steadily higher as he progressed upwards. Just as he took the last two steps at once it beeped loudly, indicating a spike in the electromagnetic field, and his foot snagged the edge of the hall carpet in surprise. He didn’t drop either his suitcase or the EMF reader as he stumbled, as both were more valuable than him, so he wound up bumping solidly into the wall across the hallway.

"Sunnuva-" he grumbled, pushed upright, and glared at the carpet like he'd love to give it a good smiting, as if that was possible, then glanced to the left then right down the hallway. He almost dropped everything he was holding when he saw her.

Meg. Looking gorgeous and tired and pissed off and definitely not dressed for a semi-public hallway in a residential building at barely half past dawn. Castiel jerked upright. He wasn't an idiot; he believed in fate and serendipity and...rotten luck. After all, he'd occasion to meet one of the Fates once; she was hot in a stuck-up sexy librarian way, so of COURSE Meg was probably the client. This was work. Crap.

"Hello, Meg" his voice sounded strangely rough and entirely out of place in the quiet of the hall.

Meg heard someone thumping up the steps and looked over just in time to see a man fall into the wall. She started to chuckle until he looked at her and said her name.

"Oh fuck...c’mon, not today," she groaned to herself before pushing up to her feet and setting her face in a hard expression. “Ok, look, I don’t know what you think is gonna happen here, Cas, but this is NOT cool. How’d you even find out where I lived?!”

_Jesus fricking Christ, it is way too early for this shit._

Meg pointed her finger in the direction of the exit. “You trot your ass back down those stairs right now and I won’t call the cops,” she threatened, voice rising progressively louder. She had to nip this crap in the bud; it wasn’t the first time a stupid, lovesick customer had tracked her down, and she’d learned from experience she had to mean and firm and really bitchy to chase them away. Usually wound up taking a hit in the pocketbook when she lost their business but that was preferable to being stalked.

Castiel frowned as he watched her shove upright then practically yell at him. Apparently, Meg was a fan of jumping to conclusions. He sighed, straightened up, and stalked down the hall towards her, yanking out his PI union license and badge along the way.

“Winchester Agency sent me,” he said flatly. It was then he noticed his badge was upside down; he quickly reversed it before handing it to her.

"Supernatural Special Investigator Novak. Got a report at 5:15 this morning there was a spontaneous apparition manifestation at this address." The job demanded precise, technical skills and language. The difference between a djinn and djinn offshoot might not concern the average person, but the semantic could and had gotten investigators killed.

It was also more words than he'd ever strung together in front of her, but this was not the club, and this was his element. Also he needed her to understand immediately that he wasn’t there for…what she assumed, which was a very unflattering. So he went to strip clubs? It didn’t make him a creep. Much.

As she inspected his license with narrowed eyes Castiel looked down at the notes he’d hurriedly scribbled en route, info fed to him by Charlie, the agency dispatcher. "I assume Meg is short for Margaret, Ms. Masters." It didn’t matter that moments ago she’d been aggressively yelling at him. Always be polite to the client, no matter what.

Referrals were everything in this line of work, and a happy client paid well and told others whom to call when something went bump in the night.

Meg’s eyebrows raised and her scowl slipped when he flashed the IDs. She hadn’t expected that. “Okaaaay then,” she stalled as she checked his badge and license. They looked legit. She hitched her robe tighter around herself and flicked the wallet back to him.

“Whatever, you sure took your time getting here. And can the Ms. Masters, makes me sound old.” She didn’t care if she was being a bit short. She had an excuse, she was tired and stressed and now, of all things, the guy she jerked off at work for a couple large bills last week was waving a weird looking device at the door of her apartment.

She grudgingly had to admit to herself she was a tad impressed by how professional Cas was coming off, and he was actually speaking to her, with whole sentences and no stammering. She would have teased him about it but that would have required effort, and she didn’t have the energy to mess with him at the moment.

"Thing popped up behind me when I got home and was getting ready to crash," she said with forced casualness, as though she wasn’t nearly as freaked out as she actually was. If she shivered slightly it was because the hallway was drafty and she wasn’t wearing enough for this sort of early AM adventure. "Think you can make it go away in the next hour? The sooner the better. I need my beauty sleep."

"Probably not,” he stated flatly. “I need to know exactly what you saw, where, and how it manifested before I can even consider how to get rid of it." He wasn’t picking up anything from the door, not even a little flutter in the EM fields, nothing from the hallway or Meg either. Odd compared to the readings earlier, but he mentally checked the area off as cleared, for the moment, in his mental regimen for preliminary inspection of possible haunted locations.

Meg took a step back when Cas waved some sort of device at her. “What is that?” When he ignored her and started running his hands around the edge of her door like it was some fascinating mystery and didn’t even look at her she frowned and played with the tie to her robe. 

Well, this Mr. All Business Cas certainly wasn’t at all like that shy half-mute sucker who tossed half his money at her on sight. This guy was all terse questions and professionalism. She was pretty sure she liked the former version better, but this other view of Cas was sort of interesting too. Seemed she wasn’t the only one who wore a work mask different from her off-duty self. She might have respected that if she wasn’t so irritated by this entire morning so far. And Cas was over there practically fondling her door.

_What the hell is he doing?_

He tested the doorknob to the apartment and pushed the door open slightly. His head tilted to inspect the frame carefully, both inside and out, for any indications of disturbance or deliberate marks that might pass as simple scratches to the untrained eye, possible sigils or runes somewhere. He saw nothing of note so far and took a step into the unit, pulling a flashlight from his pocket to cast over the floor then the walls on either side of the door, interviewing Meg as he worked.

"Did it come into contact with your person either physically or as any sort of metaphysical or emotional invasion? I need to know all the details. Circumstances, appearance, proximity. All important,” he recited by rote as he panned the beam around the edge of the carpet then toed it back with one foot. Nothing there except a dust outline that indicated someone wasn’t a fan of cleaning.

“You know, I don’t really understand what the hell you just said, Cas,” she snarked with only half her usual energy as she hovered outside the entrance to her place. No one way was she stepping in there just yet. “Try English.”

He looked over his shoulder at her with a small frown tugging down the corners of his mouth and a wrinkle forming between his eyes. “I need a step by step recounting. What room did you see it in? Did you see it manifest directly or did you see it as a reflection in a mirror or other surface?” The EMF detector was silent as he walked a proscribed counter-clockwise circuit of the room looking for anything out of the ordinary: a sprinkle of dirt, sigil markings etched into any surface including the window, loose floorboards that could indicate something beneath. It was easier to fall into the routine of work if he kept his eyes on the room and not her. 

Castiel was painfully aware of Meg’s presence hovering at the door even as he moved through her apartment and kept his back to her most of the time.

Feeling a bit more sure she wasn’t about to have the crap startled out of her again, as Cas moved around the room with quiet confidence and nothing jumped out at him, Meg took a final drag on her cigarette before stubbing it out against the wall in the hallway and tossing the butt in the direction of her neighbor’s door. 

"Ok, fine….I came home and,” she started recounting as she stepped into the den, “kicked off my shoes and got a water bottle from the fridge.” She took a few steps in the direction of the kitchen automatically as she began literally walking herself through the incident. Castiel turned to watch her and his eyes glanced down to a staggeringly high pair of heels cast aside by the sofa.

“I went to my room and was getting ready to take off my makeup.” She waited until Cas entered her bedroom before she stepped over the threshold herself, the creepy feeling from earlier rising in her again. She moved cautiously over to her dresser where a lipstick smudged facial tissue lay crumpled next to her favorite charm necklace. Her eyes rose to the mirror then darted away.

“The lamp flickered. I thought it was just a bulb about to blow then…then I saw it in the mirror.” She held her mug tightly and kept one arm across her stomach, hugging herself. “It was standing in that corner.” She waved the mug of now cold coffee in that direction and swallowed. “Thought it was a burglar at first and I was about to freak out…then it…moved, Cas.” She glanced up at him, then away. “I didn’t even blink and it was right behind me....it was grey...thought I saw...teeth..." She shrugged hard to disguise the shudder that ran through her. "Rotted teeth...that's all I really got of it's face…it was so fast...felt like the temperature dropped 30 degrees in here and…ok, I got the hell out of here,” she ended on a defensive note, like she would kick his ass if he disputed anything she said.

Cas trailed his flashlight over the top of her dresser then the edges of the mirror before moving to the indicated corner. He looked so serious that it did not help Meg feel better at all.

"Interesting," he murmured with a contemplative look on his face, rubbing one index finger over his lower lip. "Electrical, reflective and possible primary manifestation." He looked up at the light fixture and squinted when the EMF stayed flatline. Same with the mirror. He crouched to examine the floor but didn't see any traces of a passing, no marks, felt no cold spots either.

“I didn’t even turn around to see if it was really there. Maybe I imagined it,” she scoffed, a part of her quietly hoping Cas would confirm that was true. That there was nothing there.

He didn’t. He just kept working his way around her room, squinting at everything, bending low to sweep fingers along floorboards and window sill edges. His silence was not at all comforting, and Meg really couldn’t take it. 

“Hey, most guys love telling me what they do for living. Why didn’t you mention this? Interesting line of work." She tried to sound casual and knew she sounded anything but. Screw it, she allowed to be jittery.

"What?" he blinked and look at Meg who had an expectant look on her face; apparently she asked him a question while he was prowling about, hands flitting over nearly every inch of the walls and the doorframe leading to the bathroom. 

"Oh, I don’t mix work and...that," he said hurriedly as he dropped to his hands and knees to peer under the bed with the flashlight. The search for hex bags or anything else suspicious an effective method of avoid discussion of their previous encounters. He had no interest in thinking, much less talking, about that. Not while he was on the clock.

Meg rolled her eyes as she set the almost empty mug down on the bedside table. Cas was sort of rude, actually. 'That.' He was the one practically begging her to get him off the other day, flinging money at her by the fistful, and now it was…'that.' Like it was something so distasteful he couldn’t even say the words.

_Jerk._

She was half tempted to kick him in the ass as he squinted under her bed for god knows what. But she was barefoot and, as irritated as she was at the moment, she needed him.

One corner of her mouth tipped up as she watched Cas wriggle a dark blue storage bin from under her bed, and she plunked both hands on her hips as she watched his pull the lid off, waiting for his reaction. Cas did not disappoint. His face flushed even as his expression remained stony while he blinked several times in rapid succession at the veritable stockpile of toys Meg had collected over the years.

“See anything you like, Cas?” she inquired with a definite smirk.

He ducked his head, not answering, so he didn’t have to look at her. He reminded himself she was the client and he was simply going through her residence and possessions, as he’d done innumerable times before searching for cursed objects or other signs of the arcane. Only a lifetime of habit kept his expression schooled as his eyes skirted over the interesting assortment of latex, leather, silicone and some sturdy looking handcuffs as he cursorily shown the flashlight into the corners of the box then shoved it back under the bed.

He ignored the heat he felt in his cheeks and lifted the edge of the mattress to run his hands underneath, found nothing, then cleared his throat and inquired, "Anything unusual around the place in the last week or so? Dead animals appearing, strange smells, heard scratching in the walls or doors closing, things like that."

She snorted inelegantly as Cas evaded her question with absolutely zero subtlety. The faint blush on his pale face sold him out, and that made her feel a bit better, reminded her she still had at least a bit of power in this situation even as Cas poked through every corner of her home.

"No, trust me, this is the first time stuff like has ever happened. I'm not even here most nights, as you know.” She watched the way one of Cas’ shoulders hunched up a few inches, almost in automatic defense.

_Interesting._

“I sleep most of the day, and it’s always pretty damn quiet what with everyone else being at work.” She huffed as he opened her closet and started rifling through it. “Ok, do you really have to touch everything?”

“I’m being thorough,” Castiel stated flatly as he ran his fingers over the top shelf in the closet and pulled down boxes to check each one, all shoes. Almost all cripplingly heeled with little fussy straps and bows and zippers and high platforms. He put each box back almost as quickly as he pulled them down then pushed his hands through the hanging clothes to part them and inspect the back wall of the closet. He couldn’t help but note among the few more innocuous and everyday clothes were quite a few of Meg’s…very colorful working outfits. A white one with two red crosses on it, in particular, stood out.

Meg quirked a brow when she saw him stare a little too long at her nurse outfit. "Find what you were looking for, Cas?"

She chuckled when he failed to cover up a slight flinch and withdrew from the closet speedily. He might be some big-shot ghost hunter or whatever, but she was an expert on body language, and he wasn’t nearly as cool and collected as he tried to appear. She opened her mouth to make another teasing remark but a yawn escaped instead.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that; he noted Meg looked very tired despite the flippant attitude. Understandable, she probably hadn’t slept since yesterday. He’d focus on that: handle the problem quickly, efficiently, and try to minimize the disruption and damage to the client’s life. Two out of three generally worked in most cases.

His eyes tracked away from the closet to the mirror over the dresser then to another he glimpsed a sliver of through the half open bathroom door. Withdrawing from his pocket a black marker, he made a warding sigil on the right and left of each mirror then each window, working his way around the bedroom then the rest of the apartment. "This should prevent any reflected manifestations for the time being. Often an echo of a ghost is seen at first in order to spark fear in someone. Turbulent emotions can then give an entity power to manifest directly, so if you see it again try to remain calm, exit the residence then call me immediately." He put his business card on the kitchen counter as he marked the window near it. 

He looked over his shoulder at Meg covering another yawn with a hand. "I'll leave a couple of wards here while you sleep. Daytime manifestations are rare." He nodded mostly to himself, his mind already out the apartment and deep in the municipal records he knew were housed in the courthouse basement. "I need to conduct research on this building and its previous inhabitants before I have an idea where to start digging," he muttered and began going through his briefcase to retrieve the salt and a hex bag for each room of her apartment.

Meg licked her thumb and rubbed at the edge of one of the marks on a window. "That better come off or you're not getting another lap dance, Cas," she muttered and inwardly celebrated as, from the corner of her eye, Cas’ posture went rigid.

He tensed at that off-the-cuff statement and took a moment to process it before he looked down at her, face almost severe in its studied vacancy. "I’d prefer you didn’t bring that up, Meg. Let’s keep it professional on the job." He could not afford to let her distract him with teasing looks or less-than-subtle salacious jibes. Ghosts were serious business, and he needed to keep his attention on that matter and that matter alone.

She huffed and crossed her arms under her chest, grumbling, “Fine, spoilsport, just trying to have a little fun and not freak out over, y’know, the ghost in my home.” She walked slowly from one window to the next looking at the markings he’d drawn then over her shoulder at him. “…these _will_ work, right, Cas?”

The quiet, anxious undertone to her question prompted him to try to say something reassuring. "They’re only a stopgap for now. I could draw stronger wards but they'd likely be ineffective until I know exactly what I'm dealing with. You should keep this with you.” He fished a thin iron wrought chain that resembled a necklace but without a clasp from his briefcase. “Iron will disperse any physical spirit manifestations for a short time. If you feel cold spots or in any other way sense a presence you will call me.”

The way he phrased it was not a request.

“Otherwise, I'll be back later today after I complete some archival searches." He moved to the bedroom and placed a large container of salt on the bedside table. "Lay a line of salt at each window and the door to the hallway after I leave. That should be enough for now." He looked around with an inspecting air; when he found the basic protections now in place to his satisfaction he nodded to her.

Meg slid his business card off the counter and flipped it in her fingers as she listened to him. “Ok, I’m just going to pretend I know what the hell to do with this chain or how long I’m expected to do the salt thing for, Cas,” she sighed. “Amateur hour here, remember? This is all new to me so I’d appreciate a tad more instruction.” Now that it looked like Mr. Knows What He’s Doing was about to leave she was once again feeling unsettled about being left alone in her apartment.

Castiel squinted down at Meg and noted the way her teeth tugged at her lower lip as she chewed it. It was a bit startling the difference in her from the confident smoky allure of the siren in the club to the slightly bedraggled and apparently nervous client in front of him.

"My apologies,” he muttered, ducking his head. Sometimes he had a habit of getting ahead of himself on a case. Right now his brain was already halfway across town at the city archives. “If you lash a specter with iron it will dissipate temporarily, and spirits cannot cross salt lines across entries. It’s not here now and the salt will keep it from entering once I leave.

“Depending on how quickly I can find the information I need on this building, it’s likely I can rid your home of the problem within a day or two. Once I've a notion as to what sort of entity this is I should be able to summon and compel it to reveal the location of its bones. The bones must be destroyed to banish it permanently. I'll return this evening. In the meantime ward yourself with iron and salt and you will safe."

When it came to his work, Castiel certainly had no problem talking, Meg thought to herself. He sounded dispassionate, collected, knowledgeable and assured. The stammering nerd from the club had some serious hidden depths.

Scary ones, actually.

“Ok…thanks. That makes me feel a bit better…I think.” She rubbed two fingers under her eyes; they were starting to burn from exhaustion. All she wanted was some sleep and maybe when she woke up this would all just be some sort of really weird dream and there was no ghost and Cas was still her nervous little bump-and-grind regular instead of this somewhat grim stranger. “Still kinda sucks.”

"It will...be alright, Meg." He leaned down a little, knowing that reducing height differences assisted in making one appear less imposing and more assuring. While his overall people skills were not the best, he’d years of practice in soothing troubled clients. Nearly all of them benefited from their investigator projecting an attitude of calm authority. "I know what I'm doing," he added in a low voice.

Meg couldn’t help the little shiver that crept under her skin when he said that. His voice was distractingly low at that moment but also authoritative and somewhat kind. As much as she’d enjoyed playing with the rather sheepish and submissive guy from the club, she was grateful Cas wasn’t like that at all right now. He was in control and appeared entirely comfortable with the idea of handling a ghost, while the very idea of seeing it again made her own hackles rise. He was clearly a professional, and Meg appreciated the hell out of that at the moment.

She blew out a breath, half a sigh of relief and the other half a barely stifled yawn. “Alright, Cas, I believe you. So you'll be back tonight?" She smiled tiredly at him, glad someone was going to handle this mess.

He stared at her a moment, at that entirely unfamiliar sort of smile. It wasn't gamine or feigned or anything calculated, and it took him aback a moment before he thought to answer her. "Yes, Meg. If you’re working this evening...” He was rather loath to bring up that topic, but it was necessary. “I’ll need to come by a couple hours before that to brief you and perhaps initiate a summoning, depending on what I find today.”

“Ok, shift starts at 11 so I’ll look for around 9, I guess.” She was already starting to lean in the direction of her bedroom, beyond ready to get out of her damn work clothes and crawl into bed. The sun was well up by now and she was losing out against the urge to sleep by the moment. Cas said it would be alright and she could trust him, she figured.

He pulled out his smartphone and scrolled through his calendar for the day, tapping away some items and marking 9pm with a 30 minute warning chime, well aware how immersed he often got into his research. Research, facts, and data had kept him alive this long; it was the one thing on which he relied steadfastly. 

"Done," he said brusquely and knelt to repack his EMF reader into his briefcase, reordering it precisely. It was always best to know exactly where everything was; precision was key in his line of work.

Once finished, Castiel gave Meg’s apartment one last look over with a critical eye before again nodding to himself and heading for the door, case tucked under his arm before he remembered and stopped. He turned to look at her in her socked feet and wrinkled robe and wan, anxious face and muttered, "Goodbye, Meg."

Only after the door closed behind him, leaving Meg alone in her apartment that didn’t feel quite as intimidating as it had an hour before, she huffed a small laugh at his last words. “Good boy, Cas,” she said in an amused undertone before grabbing the salt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus the action and plot truly starts to rev up. Hope you enjoy.

He hurried down to the sidewalk, his mind racing ahead of his feet as he ticked through the list of wards he'd left and others he might bring later: equipment, supplies of summoning, and the like. Once he made it to his car and settled his case on the passenger seat Castiel let out a long sigh as though he'd been holding his breath without realizing it.

"Ngh!" The frustrated noise burst out of him as he leaned forward and lightly banged his head on the steering wheel. Damnit, of all the investigators in the agency he had to be the one assigned to her case. Of all the clients he could have been given it had to be the women who had the potential to drive him to complete and utter distraction. The entire time he'd been in her apartment, Castiel had struggled to keep his mind on his work, his demeanor calm and unruffled while his stomach tied itself into knots each time he glanced at her. In stark contrast to the commanding and prickly beauty that was her work self Meg, this morning, looked approachable and rather unsure, which was understandable. Most people didn't take well to ghosts appearing in their homes.

She’d worn work clothes hardly covered by a too small bathrobe, smoky dark eye makeup smudged in the early morning light, bare feet wrapped in stockings had toed the carpet uncertainly. He knew it was utterly unprofessional on his part to think of her that way while on the job, but when Castiel had leaned down to give her calm assurances that he knew what he was doing a part of him, wilder and unschooled, longed to get on his knees in front of her and anxiously ask her for permission to worship her. That was bad, very much so.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when his car horn beeped as he thunked his forehead against it. "Holy!!" He silently berated himself to get it together; he needed to get his brain in the ghost game, focus, work the job, get it done and jump back on track. He could deal with Meg as a client for a day or so while he sorted out this haunting business then they could get back to their appropriate stations: him handing a not insubstantial portion of his paycheck over and her taking it and his self-control to tuck them both away with a sly grin.

Castiel those thoughts down for a few hours, deep down to the point where a backhoe would be needed to excavate, and spent the better part of the day digging through census data, archeological information, and architectural plans on the building and came up with exactly...nothing. No ancient graveyard once stood there. Zero grisly murders in the tenement. He could keep searching, but he knew to trust his instincts when they started pushing back at him as he reached for a dusty census ledger from the 1870s. It wasn't the location that was the key to this haunting, so it had to be something else.

His brain still a little muddled from rising so early then burying himself in dry research, Castiel decided to go for a quick run to clear his head and get the blood pumping. He needed his mind sharp to perform a summoning, especially when he had no focal point for the spirit nor any inkling of its origin or provenance. He'd just started his third loop around the dark park near his house when his smartphone stopped playing music and chimed the alarm. He swore quietly under his breath when he realized he’d indeed lost track of time while mulling over the case and sprinted back his to place to hurriedly shower and grab the first suit at the front of his closet, taking no time to dry his hair and nearly forgetting his trench coat.

He knew Meg would be put out if he was late, she expected manners from him, and he rushed to the car to get there by 9pm.

He startled to fumble with the key in the ignition then paused and shook his head. He needed to not think of her like that; she was not in charge. This was work, his field of expertise; he held the knowledge and experience she needed. Their positions were reversed from when he visited her at the club, and that thought calmed him enough to drive at a moderate pace to her place. As he drove he mentally rifled through his inventory of supplies in the car trunk, deciding which of the two tomes that sat onthe passenger seat was more applicable for the job, and debated which knife he might like to use this evening. By the time he pulled up to her place Castiel's mind was resettled, his thoughts clear and focused. He carried his briefcase and a rosewood box up to her door and knocked firmly.

Meg cursed into her pillow at the noise that dragged her from an exhausted sleep. It better not be the damn landlord again; she knew the stupid rent was due and didn’t need another reminder.

"There had better be something on fire, dammit!" she yelled out the dragged herself out of bed and trudged to the door to yank it open, rubbing her eye. “I told you I’d have the fucking re-“ Her eyes traveled up a tall frame she’d completely forgotten to expect. ".....ah…shit. Right."

Castiel looked down at Meg and mentally noted she looked very different. It wasn't just the fact that her face was bare, no dark lipstick or smudged, smoky eyes. She just looked unguarded, natural and, he realized as his eyes flicked down, not wearing much of anything. It was a very different type of near nudity than the art she practiced at the club and he really didn't need this sort of distraction right now.

He straightened up and muttered, "Hello, Meg...perhaps you'd care to get dressed." He never thought those words would ever come out of his mouth around this woman, but there they were. Work took precedence, he was on the clock, and she wasn't paying him to admire her legs but cleanse her home.

Meg rubbed her eye again, waking up a bit more, and looked down at herself. Right, she’d crashed wearing just a tank top and panties. Hell of a way to answer the door, she knew, and didn’t really give a crap. Cas was a big boy, he’d seen it all before and then some.

“S-sure,” she yawned, waving her hand in front of her mouth before flapping it at him to get inside “You’re on duty, I get it, c’mon in. I’m gonna make some coffee and get ready for work. You do…whatever it is you gotta do.” She waved dismissively and padded to the kitchen, fingers slipping down to tug her panties back into place from where they’d begun the usual crawl up her backside. She leaned against the counter while the java perked, listening to Cas rustle about her den, and snatched a cup as soon as it was ready. She slipped into her room, set her mug on the nightstand then stood in front of the closet and considered tonight’s possibilities. Her fingers traipsed through colorful scraps of spandex and satin, PVC and leather, finally alighting on her choice. Cas had admired it earlier, no mistaking that.

_Hellooo nurse._

She called over her shoulder at her cracked bedroom door, “After this you got other stuff to do, Cas? When do you get off work?” Hey, if nothing else maybe she could work off some of whatever size bill she was probably running up with the guy via a couple of extra friendly lap dances.

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief when she disappeared into her room; now he could work undisturbed. Meg walking about in her underwear wasn’t exactly conducive to his concentration. He dragged a chair from the kitchen table and set it in the corner of the den then carefully poured a line of salt around it. When the edge of his trench brushed it as he moved, he tsked to himself in annoyance at his carelessness and removed it to drape over the back of the sofa then redrew the scattered line. He nudged the rest of the furniture back a few feet and the coffee table to the left so he could flip back the throw rug to meticulously chalk a summoning sigil on the floor 5 feet in diameter. He stood up and tilted his head to the right then left to examine it and redrew a line before he was satisfied. Opening the rosewood box to fish out the snare and compel charms he knelt to lay them in a precise fashion, one to each of the cardinal directions, a fifth in the middle.

When that was done he drew out a small bowl made from the skull of a feline familiar, set it on the coffee table, and dropped in two silvers of sanctified silver from a bishop’s rosary before he leafed through the pocket sized book he fished from his jacket. Although he knew the words by heart, had for years, it was just another part of the ritual to him to reset his mind and get in the right headspace for summoning, make sure he could wrap his tongue fluidly around each syllable without strain.

Meg listened for an answer and, when she didn't get one, her jaw tightened in irritation. She yanked her clothes on: red g-string and push-up bra, white knee stocks with a single red bow at the top of each and the nurse outfit; she'd do her hair and makeup in a minute because she wanted an answer. She tossed open her bedroom door to snark at his back, since he was so busy doing whatever it was that made him forget his manners with her.

"Hey! I asked you a question, Cas."

He turned at her sharp tone and his eyes widened at what she was wearing.

_Gotcha._

He nearly dropped his pocket version of the Esotericum in surprise then took a short, sharp breath to steady his reaction as he snapped the book shut. He schooled his expression and raised his eyes to rest firmly on her face.

"I am working," he said with a bit more force that he'd intended but, damnit, he needed to concentrate and she was not helping. He pointed at the chair in the corner. "Sit there. Don't disturb the salt line." With that he turned his back on her, pushed off his suit jacket to drop next to his overcoat on the sofa and started rolling up his sleeves.

Her dark brows raised at his response and Meg opened her mouth to sass him right back until he shot her a stern look that did not allow contradiction. She huffed, rolled her eyes, and plunked into the chair, crossing her legs and her arms over her chest to make the very picture of defensive irritation. She came so very close to muttering something very uncomplimentary under her breath but figured it was best not to tick off the guy who’d just pulled out a knife. 

_Not sure I want to know what that’s for._

Once he heard her Meg settle huffily behind him Castiel relaxed marginally and shook out his arms, rolled his neck twice then made a quick practiced cut to his left forearm in between two more recent scars with a slim silver knife and dipped his hand to let the trickle of blood drip into the bowl. Once done he flicked his fingers against his pants and began the incantation.

“Ab aeterno,  
Ad limina mortem et extra  
Abyssus abyssum invocate  
E tenebris,  
Veteris vestigia flammae ardere denuo  
Iure aanguinis  
Mors tua, vita mea aeternum  
Terra es, terram ibis  
Ecce quomodo moritur  
Hoc sustinate damnosa hereditas.”

Meg’s mouth hung open slightly as she stared at Cas, torn between fascination that he was clearly completely and utterly crazy, and freaked out that he’d just cut himself and was purposefully bleeding all over stuff. 

_His arms…how many times has he done that?_

They were littered with old white lines, puckered welts, red scars. The skin there was a positive patchwork of injuries of varying ages. The guy just sliced his arm open like it was no big deal and started talking in some weird language and looked so very serious about the whole demented scene and what the hell?? 

Meg’s eyes widened as she stared at him, her hackles starting to rise. She had the very distinct impression that she should get the fuck out of there.

“Cas…maybe I should g-“ She blinked and looked towards the window when her hair blew across her face. It was definitely closed.

Castiel tilted his head at the ruffling of the curtains that grew steadily strong until they were waving freely and a few papers on the coffee table began to rustle. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly. As he’d expected.

“Be quiet and still, Meg,” he said calmly, not glancing in her direction, as he grabbed the bowl and leaned over the summoning sigil, careful not to touch the chalk with his foot, and poured the blood over the center charm, repeating the incantation. He yanked his arm back when the cold inside the sigil touched him, almost like a frigid caress. He fished the Esotericum out of his pocket, hands automatically opening to the Compelling verse, as the lights blinked rapidly then went off as a grey figured flickered into the center of the sigil, facing the woman in the corner.

_Okay, shit just got entirely way too real._

Meg jerked back in her chair, tipping it back a moment to knock the wall behind her, as her fingers dug into the edges of her seat as she tried to keep herself from leaping out of it and running. Cas told her not to leave the circle of salt. 

"..... C-Cas…." Her knuckles were white as she gripped her chair firmly, "Cas, make it go away now." She tried to speak calmly but her voice shook along with the rest of her.

Ghosts were real. Sure, of course they were, that’s why investigators existed, but ghosts were REALLY real now, no longer hypothetical, and one creepy looking example was standing right in front of Meg.

A sibilant murmur crept through the room as the spirit manifested voice and direction.  
"Hellooooo Mmmeg."

The hair on the back of Castiel's neck stood up and he scowled.

“Anytime, Cas!” Meg barked, volume overriding the way her voice almost broke. Things like this were not supposed to be in her house and definitely not know her name!

Castiel darted to insert himself between the figure and Meg as he leafed quickly to another page in his tome and muttered over his shoulder to her, never breaking eye contact with the spirit. "Don't engage it."

The grey figure's lips pulled back past rotting teeth and wheezed what might have passed for a laugh if any breath at all moved through the entity. "Castieeellll....lonng tiiime nno ssseee."

Castiel’s lips barely moved as he named it, "Alastair." 

He was not prepared for this one, not at all. There’d been no signs and he’d none of the tools that would make any real difference on this spirit, but he could protect Meg for the moment. That was his job.

“What the fuck?! You know this thing??” Meg shouted.

“Shut up, Meg!” Castiel barked as he stooped to snatch up the salt shaker and flung his arm forward in a sharp motion, scattering the grains all over the sigil and charms; they were nearly useless now, he couldn't compel this one and needed to banish it quickly. It would be dirty and not entirely effective, but at least it would drive the spirit away long enough to get Meg out of here.

She jerked back, chair skittering back into the corner as far as it could go and her breath broke off in shallow near-panicky hitches as she watched Cas work with wide eyes. The investigator in his domain, calm cool and collected, confident and knowledgeable and not all freaking out this _thing_ just appeared out of thin air. That would have been all manner of hot except he knew this fucking _thing_ in her house. Oh yeah, she was going to have some questions about that. 

The spirit fizzled and flickered away for a moment when the salt hit it, then reappeared as soon as the grains hit the floor. The grey rictus grin grew as it glided forward a few inches, testing the boundaries of the binding mark on the floor. Castiel found the right page and read steadily, voice level and firm as his eyes flicked between Alastair and the book, as he swung his hand in sharp motions, salting again and again.

"Virtus tempestate mihi de te quod ignis potestatem super te  
Ego inter itu pote statem super te potestatem super te in lucem dedi.  
Atque ego proiciam vos spiritum immundum.  
Sancta discessit, aut dissipabuntur in ignem.  
Precipio tibire linquo, relinquere cogunt vos me vade et vinci."

Castiel’s voice never rose because volume added nothing, it was the conviction that mattered, and he dropped the book to reach into his pocket and retrieve the collapsible asp. With a deft, practiced flick of his wrist the iron weapon extended from 6 inches to 18 and he swung it through the spirit's face just as it reappeared one more time, the sanctified weapon slashing through it as though the being were smoke. Alastair dispersed into wisps and did not reappear.

“...is...is that it? It’s gone?” Meg whispered, not daring to move from her spot in the corner.

Castiel turned to look at her, saw her pale face and paler knuckles where she gripped the edges of her chair, and said firmly, with no room for argument, "No, it’ll be back. You have five minutes to collect your things. We're leaving." He crouched to gather the charms from the floor and scuff the chalked sigil with the heel of his hand so it lost what little power it still retained.

He didn’t have to tell Meg twice. She darted off her chair and into her bedroom to snag her makeup bag and some things to style her hair and hurried back to her bizarre ghostbuster’s side; he was the only thing standing between her and whatever that was.

“Let’s go, c’mon.” She pushed at his arm, ready to get the hell out of here.

Castiel looked down at the paltry items she held and almost rolled his eyes until he noticed she was still shoeless. Clearly, Meg was a bit rattled.

“You’re not coming back here, not until this is figured out, Meg. Pack a bag.” He shrugged away from her hand and returned to stacking his charms back into the rosewood case, packing away his tools with neat efficiency.

“…are you serious?” She looked around and realized there was no way she wanted to sleep here again, not after that. “Never mind, I got it,” she huffed and hurried back to her room to drag a suitcase from the closet and hastily stuff it. Work clothes, t-shirts, sneakers, heels, shorts, jeans, sweats, whatever she lay her hands on that passed a quick sniff test went in. 

_Screw being organized, this is about speed._

She dumped her toiletries on top and sat on it, bouncing a few times to get it half zipped well enough to do and hauled it towards the door, eyes scanning her room quickly for anything else vital.

“Shit, almost forgot.” 

She darted over to her dresser, studiously not looking in the mirror, and snatched up her charm necklace. Nothing fancy but the Qing coin, Buddha bead, and little amulet were all she had left of her father, a longshoreman who brought back little things from his travels that she’d strung together. Until one day, the only thing that came back was a letter saying…well, didn’t matter what it said. 

“Not leaving you behind,” she muttered as she quickly strung it around her neck and flicked the clasp. “Or you either.” She quickly grabbed Bun from where he peeked from under her pillow, one button eye crooked and the pink thread triangle of his rabbit nose faded over the years, and shoved him in her purse.

Castiel eyed his watch with impatience. Alastair was unlikely to be gone for very long, it was very powerful, he knew that from unfortunate experience. 

When Meg reappeared, he flicked his gaze over the half zipped suitcase and he leaned over to rush the fastener closed and jerked his head at the door impatiently. "Let's go. I think a safe house is in order. You can call in sick on the way."

"Uh NO,” Meg said firmly as she followed him down the stairs. “I need to work, I need money to pay you to keep that kind of shit away from me, and I need to do something besides think about what the hell just happened because that-“ She jabbed her finger at her building at they exited, “-that was pretty messed up.”

Castiel gave her an baleful look over the roof of the car as he dumped her bag in the backseat of his car and pushed his cell phone at her. He didn't have time for this.

She gave him one hell of a dark look right back then plunked herself in the passenger seat, arms crossed huffily over her chest. “In case it hadn’t occurred to you, people in my line of work don’t get paid vacation or sick days, Cas.”

"Forget it, Meg,” he argued. “I'm taking you to the motel my agency uses to stash clients who need relocation for the time being then I need to start calling my sources." Call them, visit them, interrogate with extreme prejudice. Alastair knew her name. Someone out there knew why.

She steadfastly refused to pull out her phone and blatantly ignored the one he tried to thrust at her, and turned her face to look out the window. Now that she’s wasn’t scared half out of her wits all that anxious energy was slowly turning into anger. She didn’t want any of this, she wanted it over and for her crappy little life to go right back to being crappy and little and not full of ghosts and weird winds and freaky symbols drawn on her floor and guys bleeding in bowls on her coffee table.

“I’m not staying at some shitty motel. For what this is going to probably wind up costing me, you can stick your Motel 6 where the sun doesn’t shine. Take me to my job, capice?”

He huffed, frustrated, and fixed her with the sort of look that generally made previously stubborn suspects into more than willing informants. 

"Meg, I have a lot of calls to make and research to do, this is serious and I need you to be somewhere I’m positive you’re safe; otherwise all that," he flicked his eyes at her retreating building in his rearview mirror, "was completely pointless." He set his jaw stubbornly and made a point of not taking the turn that would lead in the direction of her workplace. “I’m not letting you get hurt.”

“And I’m not sitting on my perky little ass while the men folk go handle the business,” she said waspishly. “Come on, there's bouncers in every corner, and the only way I’m getting hurt there is if I fall off a pole. It’s not your job to worry about me, is it? No, your job is getting rid of that _thing_ that knew my name! I’ll be fine!” she said stubbornly. 

If she just said it enough maybe she’d start believing it. She’d be fine.

He kept his eyes on the road so he didn't have to look at her. No, it wasn't his job to worry or even care; it was his job to protect her, keep her alive. 

If he started caring, getting attached at all, that was a problem. Investigators didn't get personally invested in clients or their cases because sometimes things didn't work out, the case went south and people got hurt, or occasionally died. That happened more often than anyone in the agency cared to think about. Clients, investigators, snitches. Even one life was too many.

So Castiel did his job, gave up any semblance of a normal life. He didn't sleep regular hours, didn't have time or even the energy for outside interests, abandoned the optimism required to think one day he might get a shot at a normal life, he drank, he had issues. Every dedicated investigator did. 

Because it wasn't about him, it was about helping others, then moving on to the next case. One smart man with a knack for the arcane could help a lot of people that way if he just kept his distance and his focus on the job. So, no, he wasn’t going to worry about Meg because he wasn’t going to let anything happen that could possibly put her in danger.

“Hey, you missed the turn…take this left up here then.” 

Meg frowned as he drove past that street also. 

“Cas, turn the car around and take me to work.” 

He didn’t answer and kept driving.

“Alright, that’s it, let me out!” she spat harshly and undid her seatbelt. 

She didn’t give a damn if the car was moving or not. No one kept her from doing what she wanted to do or going where she wanted to go, she didn’t care if he did just face down some creepy spirit.

Her ferocious tone didn’t startle Castiel nearly as much as her when her hands worked furiously at her seatbelt as though she'd throw herself out of the car to get her way and away from him. He couldn’t believe how stubborn she was being; he was trying to protect her. But letting a client throw themselves out of a moving vehicle just to get away from him was terrible for business. 

He realized it might indicate he was acting a tad unreasonably himself, as much as that galled him to admit. He couldn’t hold Meg hostage for her own safety, even if she was being annoyingly short-sighted about the entire situation. She didn’t yet understand the implications of Alastair; he’d not had time to explain it. 

Fine, he could indulge her just for this evening. She’d see reason once he sat her down and explained everything. He’d make her.

His right hand darted out to clamp over her seatbelt latch as he muttered under his breath a favorite Enochian swear he'd learned ages ago; it was a surprisingly vulgar language in a weirdly formal way. "Fine," he said tersely and took the next left to circle back around to the neighborhood that housed the club. "I’ll make my calls from there. My boss needs to know what happened anyway. And I need a damn drink."

“Thank you,” Meg said in such a chilly tone it nearly felt like a supernatural cold spot breezed through the car. “Don’t be a nuisance while I’m working. Stay out of sight and out of my way unless you feel like paying for a lap dance; otherwise I better not know you're there," she snarked, pleased she got her way but very put out that she had to fight so hard to get it. 

Meg decided that as useful as his supernatural butt-kicking was, right now she definitely liked Cas better when he was just her nervous, accommodating, and needy customer. She decided to completely ignore the part of herself that felt less scared with him next to her. 

Castiel listened to her short tirade in silence as he pulled into the parking lot. His shoulders hunched up in aggravation that they're here and not someplace safer, quieter, less crowded and with adequate wards. 

He was back in her territory now, and it was throwing his previously practiced plans out of order.

He was supposed to identify the client's problem, secure the location and the client if need be, conduct research, work the job until one solution or another panned out, and the client shut up and listened to the expert and followed his directions because he knew what he was doing.

Meg seemed determined to upend all those expectations.

He had no idea how he was going to accomplish anything productive in the dim club with its music and dancing women and two drink minimum. He resented the prickle of anxiety starting to tighten his throat as he shoved out of the car, and it took a great deal for him to mutter, “Fine, Meg...I'll be working anyway." 

Like he was going to be able to work in that environment and her sauntering around in that damned nurse costume. He shouldn’t even be looking at her like that; she was client and a rather frustrating one at the moment.

“And I need to tell my boss something. He’s gonna wanna know why I showed up with a customer and why you’re lurking around all night,” Meg stated as she practically scrambled from his car when she saw the time, makeup bag clutched in her hand. “If he wants to talk to you, make sure you’re cool so please actually try to be cool and,” she looked over the roof of the car at him with a very familiar smirk crossing her lips, “not all... _you_.”

With that she patted her hair into place, made it a point to turn in a slow and deliberate manner away from the car, as though daring him to respond, and deliberately strode towards the club’s entrance, high heels tik-tak-ing crisply over the pavement. 

It took Castiel a few seconds to realize he was staring blatantly at her departing ass and visibly shook himself and grumbled he was, most likely, an idiot under his breath as he followed a few moments later.

The moment they crossed the threshold something settled over Meg and immediately dispelled the tense set of her jaw and rigidity in her walk. Castiel couldn’t help but notice as she seemed to shift into something more liquid with a roll of her hips and the corner of her mouth quirked in that familiar sly smile as she strode across the floor and disappeared into the ladies room. It was like flicking on a spotlight and she was suddenly the performer once more, all command and sassy authority, and he was again waiting quiet and passive for her to give him direction.

When he automatically took an empty seat Meg waved at as she hurried away he was tempted to call his boss and ask for a reassignment. The phone stayed in his pocket.

She smiled and greeted customers and girls on her way to the dressing room. Once she managed to get the bathroom to herself, she shot the lock behind her and let out a breath she didn't know she'd been half-holding. Propping her elbows on the sink counter Meg allowed herself a few private moments to have the quiet internal freakout she’d been clamping down on for what felt like hours, even if was less than one. 

_What the hell happened back there?_

She had let this self proclaimed expert/customer scribble all over her apartment and then this...thing came out of nowhere, knew both of their names, scared her shitless, and driven her out of her home.

Meg took a deep, steadying breath and fanned her face before she she overwhelmed by the entire big bizarre picture. She did not panic. She did not meltdown. She was tougher than that.

“Ok, Meggers, keep it together. It’s fine. It’s FINE.” 

She sucked in air and turned to face her reflection in the mirror.

_Yikes, war paint time._

She could do it, she could keep a calm facade in the public eye, spazzing a little was for private time and private time was over. She wasn’t weak, she could suck it up and play it through. She had her mask, she could put it on and it would be fine. 

Meg flicked her hair back to stare at her own reflection haughtily and pointed at herself. “Don’t be a cry baby or a bitch, you suck it up, you make that money and you deal with that crap later.” 

Satisfied she’d given herself exactly the sort of pep talk a moment liked this needed, Meg pulled her shoulders back, dipped her hands down the front of her costume to adjust the girls and leaned in to start doing her makeup. 

The familiar routine of smoothing on colors and powders and scents and lines and painting over plain old Meg with someone tougher and more confident made it easier to block out her unpleasant thought about earlier in the evening, got her into the right mindset to do what she did best. Make the men make it rain for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Though he was composing an email to his employer about the failed spirit dispersal on his phone, Castiel was painfully aware of Meg the moment she stepped from the back. Although he kept his eyes firmly on the small screen, his periphery was caught on the now familiar and confident swish of legs coming towards him, flashes of white and red at the corner of his eye. He tried to keep his head down and typed with his thumbs as knee socks with bows appeared in his eye line.

"I’m gonna go tell my boss you’re not a stalker, don’t do anything stalkery." Meg sounded confident and collected, as though the events of the day had not rattled her at all.

He dragged his gaze up reluctantly to look at her when it was clear he was expected to respond, and he flushed at the sight of Meg's dark eyes now artfully outlined to make them appear bigger, the bow of her lips a dark red curl as she spoke.

"...Yes, Meg..." he replied automatically, a habit he'd appeared unable to break whenever she was in her element: standing over him and dictating how things would be.

“Don’t forget there’s a 2 drink minimum, so get something and try to chill out. You’re in a strip club so look like you’re enjoying yourself, ” she said tartly before she turned on one pointed heel and sashayed her way through the crowd towards the owner’s office.

Although her tone was a bit abrupt with Cas, Meg appreciated that he’d stuck around and didn’t just dump her at her job and take off. As aggravating as he could be Cas seemed to know his ghosty stuff, and his presence settled her nerves a bit after that wild episode at her apartment. He might be nonplussed by a spirit popping up and saying hello, but Meg was seriously freaked and having some hired supernatural-specializing muscle nearby was a comfort, albeit a small one as she would have preferred none of this happening in the first place.

Once she poked her head in the back office and told Lu, her boss, that the guy she showed up with wasn’t a boyfriend, stalker, or a problem, he shrugged and flapped his hand at her dismissively to go work. Some of the girls brought their boyfriends in once in a while; most of the time it was fine, but sometimes the guys got aggressive with other customers who showed their gal pals too much attention. As long as the dancers kept their friends under control and the guys bought drinks and tipped the ladies, Lu didn’t much care. Meg never caused him any grief anyway, quite the converse, she dragged in more money than most of the other girls. Satisfied she’d done the bare minimum responsible thing, Meg gave her boss a cheeky middle finger salute and started prowling the floor for customers while waiting for her turn on the main stage.

She set her sights on a plain, nervous looking guy who had the look of someone who didn’t feel they were “allowed” to be here. That guilty posture all the sneaky ones had. Meg sidled up and leaned into him.

"Hey sugar, you look a little uneasy. First time?" she queried with a half smile that told him it was okay to open up to her; within 2 minutes she had his name, Garth, and that his girlfriend Becky didn’t know he was here. "Ah, well this can be our little secret, huh babe?" She grinned and hooked a leg over his knee to pull him closer. In 10 minutes she was well on her way to a very profitable evening.

Castiel watched Meg sashay away, those hips tilting in a familiar cadence he realized he'd memorized. He shook himself and tried to focus again on his phone but quickly realized he'd completely lost track of what he was trying to email to the Winchesters. Now he had to start over, and he tapped the backspace irritably. After a few minutes, Castiel realized half of what he'd thumbed was not his usual orderly and concise report. He blamed it on the fact that he was unable to help noticing Meg shimmy over a guy two tables away, rubbing his face into the spill of her tempting cleavage.

Castiel started when his phone beeped, apparently his fingers had been working unconsciously over the keys and he'd turned it off or powered it down or something. The screen stayed dark no matter what he did. He grunted in annoyance at himself and fiddled with it to try and restart it.

Maybe he did need a damn drink.

Castiel moved closer to the bar and ordered a whiskey neat, figuring it would be easier that way to wave off any of the other dancers who approached him if he honored the drink minimum. He noticed after nearly an hour or so that none did, and he realized he was glaring, specifically at Meg, and that most likely chased any other offers off. He didn't really want that sort of attention tonight anyway. What he needed was quiet, calm, his notes, his books and to sort out why Alastair has popped up again and apparently with Meg in its sights.

He should be researching, not spending the evening watching his new client effortlessly shake down a skinny and timid looking guy, then a stern faced man, then a too loud and handsy drunk, for their money with a few clever twists of her hips.

He wasn't jealous.

Castile knew he could have her plopped in his lap and gyrating in that miraculous way if he flashed enough cash, but he didn't want that. Well, not tonight anyway. Once he cleared this case up and hopefully sent Alastair packing for all eternity he could indulge once more, until then...he watched Meg offer up what he couldn't have.

Castiel took down his second drink quickly then waved off the offer of a third from the mullet-headed bartender because he had to drive and the booze wasn't helping him relax one bit.

After working steadily for 2 hours between the stages and the crowd Meg excused herself from an increasingly rowdy gaggle of local college boys who tipped crappy and sauntered over to the bar for a drink. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hips swaying in time with the music. She saluted Ash with her drink once he passed it over then made her way over to Castiel. She ignored that he was hunched over with his phone pressed to the side of his head, clearly busy, and plopped next to him on the loveseat style armchair making herself comfortable just a shade too close to him by kicking her legs up to lay over his.

Making Castiel a little uncomfortable was a bonus.

He held his hand to one ear and the phone smashed tightly to the other as he tried make sense of what Dean was telling him on the other end, but the music was too loud. "What? What was...what was that? I didn't hear you." 

Castiel was frustrated; he couldn’t conduct any semblance of business in such an environment; he needed to spread his information out, look at it from every angle, collaborate with other specialists in the arcane and supernatural. He should have to flap his hand to shoo away the bartender, or give a glare at a fellow patron who looked like they were on the verge of complaining about Castiel talking too loudly on his phone, or pretending he wasn’t staring at the the dark haired women who appeared next to him.

"Getting any work done, Cas?" she asked pertly; the little smirk playing at the corner of her mouth indicated she already knew the answer to that question.

"Dean, I-" he jaw snapped shut when she draped her legs over his lap, casual as could be, as he found his face only inches what seemed like several miles of cleavage and Meg’s voice close to his ear. "...call you back," he muttered and hung up, then looked at her a bit mulishly, frustration evident on his face."...No, Meg."

"Aw, that’s a shame,” she teased, an idea sparking in her head. “You look tense, Cas. I told you, you really should relax.” Her hand slipped behind his head to play lightly with the hair at the back of his neck as she took a sip of her drink. Maybe Cas would knock a bit off whatever bill she was racking up if she gave him a little extra attention. And he might be inclined to be a little less dickish if he unwound a bit.

“Look, how about we go in the back? It’s quieter there, less distractions. You look like you’re about to pop a blood vessel you’re so wound up, hun,” she offered with a practiced and placating tone to her voice.

Castiel paused. “...I don’t know.” One one hand it wasn't like he was actually getting anything done out here, on the other he wasn’t sure being the VIP section would be any better. 

Meg pouted prettily, her fingers slowly moving up into his hair. "Come on, Cas, it’s pretty noisy and there’s that nice comfy couch." She rarely took no for an answer and she saw his resolve weakening. “You’re so on edge.”

"I'm not on edge," he retorted tersely. He deliberately raised his phone and tried to fire off another text, this time to the agency on-call assistant. He hoped he made it obvious he was preoccupied with something other than trying to not look directly down the plunging neckline of her costume. 

"I need to figure out where to put you tonight." Meg had had a minor meltdown over the suggestion of the hotel, so he was struggling to think of alternatives. It needed to be someplace secure and warded.

Meg’s jaw clenched slightly in irritation. She didn’t like being brushed off, even if Cas was pulling the “on duty” card. She tilted her head back to down the rest of her drink, set the glass on the table and stood up, plucking his phone out of his hand.

"We can figure out where I'm staying in a bit, Cas. Come on.” She waggled his phone at him and stepped out of his reach when he tried to retrieve it.

“Damnit, Meg, give that back.” He scowled when she tucked it down her cleavage with a victorious look.

Meg tsked and wagged a finger at him, her expression turning more severe. “Don’t use that language with me, mister. Now. Come. Here.” She laced each word with authority, the kind she’d seen him respond to before.

"But..." Castiel trailed off when his phone disappeared down her dress and she gave him a command that brooked no argument. He sighed internally and sent up a silent prayer for just a little more willpower around this woman, but God was apparently turning a deaf ear or just liked watching Castiel squirm.

"...yes, Meg."

Meg strode across the club with a smug grin, glancing over her shoulder once or twice to make sure Cas followed. And to make sure he was looking her fingers slipped down to toy with the impossibly short skirt of her costume, as though she planned to tug it lower but instad she hitched it up another inch of two. 

The choked noise he made behind her as she slipped behind the heavy curtains to the private section made Meg laugh quietly.

_Good boy._

She pushed open the door and spun on her heel to smirk up at Cas, her index finger skipping up his tie to tap his chin. "Gonna turn that stressed out frown upside down, hun. Everyone leaves this room with a smile," Meg promised as she moved into his personal space with determination.

Startled, Castiel backed up. “Er…I thought you were…going to let me work…” he stammered, realizing a bit too late he’d completely misinterpreted her offer of the quiet and solitude of the back rooms. He almost facepalmed himself for being so dense. 

Raising one hand to keep some necessary distance between them, he took another step backwards. He shouldn’t be in here; he should be trying to figure out his billable hours so far on this case. He should not be falling back onto the sofa when his knees hit. He should definitely not be wondering exactly what was under her dress as it hiked up when she moved to kneel over him.

"Meg, please…I can't pay my employer....15% of a lap dance,” he fumbled, keeping both his hands up like it was a stick-up.

Meg’s smile was sharp as she watched the oh-so-confident and commanding investigator crumble before her eyes back into the nervous guy she first met. "What? I can’t show you how much I appreciate what you did earlier? I’d like to give you a little pat on the…” She slowly wound his tie around her fist and tugged it up, tipping his chin higher. “…back for your hard work, Cas.” 

The noise that scraped out of his throat was entirely undignified. He closed his eyes a moment as thought praying for strength and cleared his throat.

"You could...pay the invoice we send you...promptly?" Castiel suggested lamely, at a complete loss as to how to get out of this situation. Unfortunately, part of him didn’t exactly want to. Who turned down someone like Meg practically begging to crawl all over him? Crazy people, that’s who.

Castiel’s brain momentarily tried to rationalize giving in, indulging in Meg’s offer. Certainly Dean had certainly dipped his pen in the company ink with clients, everyone knew that. It wasn’t unheard of. He’d probably get an “atta boy.”

No.

Castiel was a professional and this was business and allowing this was not protocol and this was...her hands sliding up his inner thighs.

"How about we work out a little quid pro quo, Cas?" Meg inquired with a head tilt. “A little…mutual satisfaction, huh?” She nodded, and watched as his chin bobbed down slightly as he mirrored her unconsciously. Cas was starting to agree with her, lowering his defenses against her little proposition. The fingers of her left hand drifted towards his belt buckle 

“I scratch your back and you scratch a little off the bottom line of my bill, right, babe?”

Castile swallowed dryly and decided Meg was slightly terrifying when she started to murmur to him in that low, enticing voice. It was like a siren's call, and he was almost helpless to resist. He wondered for a moment if she was an actual siren, but so far he'd not had any urges to kill anyone, unless he counted wanting to shoot himself for not immediately handing this case over to another investigator as soon as he laid eyes on her that morning.

He stared at her with wide eyes as she curled red nails into the cheap fabric of his blue tie and tugged his chin up higher.

"You...there's no need...simple transaction really" Castiel stammered, mind going off the rails as he heard the slide of leather at his waist as she deftly slipped his belt free with one hand. "I accept...Paypal..."

Did he really just say that? He needed to shut up, definitely.

“Nah, babe,” Meg insisted as she untucked his shirt. “This will be so much better.” She relished that the strong, certain man of a couple hours ago, who’d chased a ghost away and tried to go toe to toe with her in stubbornness in the car, turned so nervous and malleable under her touch .

If she played her cards right maybe she could get Cas to do this whole job pro bono.

Meg’s fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt and scratched lightly up his sides.

When he felt the lowest button on his shirt slide loose and her fingers start rucking the fabric higher Castiel jolted and grabbed Meg’s wrist, yanking her hand away before it ventured another inch higher and encountered his ritual scars.

This was definitely not happening, no question about it now. 

"If you want money so badly, here," he blurted as he fished in his jacket pocket to thrust a handful of crumpled bills at her and the tone of his voice switched from uncertain to something much harder. “Get off me."

Meg sat very still a moment, her eyes flashing between his grip on her wrist down to money between them then up to examine the unreadable expression on his face.

"Fine," Meg muttered as her own demeanor immediately downshifted from enticing and accommodating to irked. It was hard to feign sweetness or acceptance in the face of such flat out rejection. “Have it your way, Cas.”

She rolled her eyes as she backed off his lap and snatched up the money, counting it quickly before she made it a point to inch up her dress right in front of Cas and tuck the bills into her garter. Easiest $60 she’d made in a while. She fished his cell phone out of her cleavage and flicked it at him without care.

“Whatever, Cas. Stay in here and play with your phone or yourself for all I care,” she tossed out, the chilly tone of her voice masking the sting of his rebuff.

Castiel’s hand came up automatically to catch the phone before it smacked him in the face and it stayed there while she stalked out. When the door slammed shut behind her his head flopped back against the sofa.

"Nnnnnrgh, damnit."

After allowing himself a very brief and private wallow in embarrassment Castiel started making phone calls again. Might as well take advantage of the relative quiet of the private room now. He called Dean first to finally give a decent summation of the evening.

Dean’s reaction was cool and casual until Castiel mentioned Alastair then he immediately ordered him to call up his brother Sam. The younger Winchester was the intel center of their operation, a veritable gold mine of data and records on every sort of being in the supernatural realm. After a brief call to Sam to bring him up to speed, he was informed the Alastair file would be sent to him in the morning. After that he was on to Charlie, the agency’s central administrator; she preferred the term “fixer” as it generally covered her talent to fix nearly every problem brought to her attention that didn’t actually require field work. 

Late as it was, Castiel knew Charlie kept odd hours, even odder than him. Charlie probably had some tucked away hidey hole where he could stash Meg until he cleared her home of any connection to Alastair and banished the spirit that, for whatever reason, was fixated on her in particular.

Occasionally he poked his head out of the VIP section to check the club floor and make sure Meg was...doing what she did and still there.

"Look, I know the hotel is usually where we put clients, but this one's difficult," Castiel insisted into the phone as he watched the brunette unzip that white uniform with a flourish and drape it over the head of a hooting businessman before she swung around the pole again, now barely clad in a red cross-themed bra and patny set. 

"What? No, it's not a party...I have to keep tabs on her at her job. Can’t I put her in the bunker for a night or two?" He ducked back into the private room, continuing to argue with Charlie.

He thunked his head against the door twice as Charlie chided him sharply over the phone that the bunker was for high priority cases with deeper pockets than Ms. Master's credit check revealed. So either she went to the warded hotel or back to her own place, ghost or not. No amount of arguing would budge Charlie and she literally held the keys to the castle, or bunker as the case may be.

"Fine...fine, I'll make her see reason. Thanks Charlie," he muttered, not that she'd actually done anything. Castiel ran his hands through his hair in frustration and sighed. He could already imagine Meg's bossy voice arguing with him; she'd probably be even fiercer in her opposition to going to a hotel since her earlier somewhat friendlier disposition towards him had vanished when he practically tried to shove her off his lap.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, try to quell his rising frustration. He didn't take crap from clients; he knew what was best and if they wanted to stay unscathed they needed to defer to his expertise and knowledge. He just needed to remind himself that Meg was just another customer who needed him, and he was the one who held the power. She was just an infinitely more attractive pain in the ass than the others. He simply would not put up with her crap.

He repeated that to himself like a mantra as he tried to smooth his wrinkled tie down, adjusted his trench and slipped out of the private section. His eyes darted around the club until he spied her once again wrapping herself around another guy and picking his pocket the best way she knew how.

If he wasn't so tired and irritated, and himself a victim of her skills, Castiel might have been impressed with how good she was. And how seemed to keep finding places to tuck the money being tossed at her. Instead he rubbed his eyes tiredly and looked down at his watch, squinting in the dim light. 

“Christ,” he muttered; it was late and he'd not slept in nearly a day, couldn’t remember the last time he ate.

He didn't see the grey figure flicker into existence behind the guy Meg was currently entertaining.

Perched on a cocktail table in front of her customer, Meg kicked up one heel and lightly tapped the off-duty police officer who came in twice a week under the chin with the red spike until he waved another twenty at her. With a throaty laugh she leaned forward to let him slide it down her cleavagethen she planted her foot firmly on his chest and pushed, the sharp heel digging in. The guy had a thing for pretty girls stepping on him. It wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d ever been asked to do, he always paid well, and the ridiculously blessed out expressions he made were always good for a few laughs.

She rotated her ankle, digging her heel in a little harder, and looked around to see if any of the other girls were seeing this. The guys with the goofy kinks always made for great backstage gossip. Ruby was to her right, hand already over her mouth to stifle her giggles. Meg rolled her eyes at the other woman and turned back to face her customer as something flashed in her periphery.

Meg froze except for her mouth dropping open in a silent O of surprise that quickly turned to shock as the grey face split in a rotting grin. It was that thing.

Cas called it Alastair.

Cas.

“CASTIEL!!” Meg shouted; the hard toe of her candy striped shoe caught her customer right under the chin and knocked him out of his chair in a daze as she scrambled off the table. She landed hard on her hands and knees on the floor and screamed for Cas again.

Castiel’s head snapped up and it took a moment of squinting through the flashing lights for him to spot Meg practically tripping backwards off her last customer and screaming like a literal banshee. His eyes widened when he saw the spectral figure and, in a moment, Castiel was moving across the club.

The collapsible iron baton from his pocket flicked to full extension with a practice movement of his wrist as he shoved people out of his way without apology. A man he elbowed in the head to knock aside fell into a cocktail waitress and a tray full of drinks crashed to the floor in a spray of glass and overpriced alcohol.

All the club muscle saw was a guy in a beige overcoat crashing through the crowd and making a fuss. A nearby bouncer, caught off guard by the commotion, swung on Castiel. The smaller man deftly ducked under the wide roundhouse aimed at his face and crashed the asp into the side of other man’s head with a fierce backhanded swing. The bouncer dropped with a thud to the floor and Cas simply stepped over him and made a beeline for the specter. 

He swung again with the iron, cutting through Alastair as though through thin air. No one else appeared to have seen the spirit, his appearance and vanishing too quick for all but Meg and Castiel.

He didn’t bother to take even a moment to watch the ghost flicker away in smoky wisps. It would be back in seconds; they had to get out of here.

Castiel looked down at Meg who had backed up to the edge of the stage, her fingers gripping with white knuckles on the edge. He grabbed her under one arm and hauled her to his side roughly, ignoring any protest and the scatter of dollars as he dragged her with him. “We’re going! Now!” he barked.

“No problem,” Meg gasped, staggering as he dragged her through the now chaotic crowd. She wasn’t stupid, getting the hell out of here took much higher priority than any money she’d dropped. Meg’s fingers clutched hard at Cas’ coat as she tried to keep her balance. She could spin and dance and do a damn cartwheel in 5 inch heels, but there was no way in hell she could sprint.

The club’s owner had come out of his office when the yelling started. All he saw was his best dancer literally being dragged across the room and one of his muscled meatheads out cold on the floor. Lu’s jaw clenched and he bellowed for security to stop the nut in the flasher coat then shouted at any dancer in earshot to go deal with the customers. 

Castiel barreled forward, shoving another dancer out of their way and the woman tipped over a chair and landed on the floor with an indignant screech. Someone’s hand reached out to land hard on Castiel’s shoulder and he tossed an elbow without sparing a glance; a pained grunt and the grip dropping away the only confirmation he needed to confirm he’d hit home.

He cast a quick look over his shoulder and realized the entire club was in upheaval, security thought he was the cause, and they were in pursuit with ugly looks on their faces.

"Damn civilians," Castiel growled and tugged Meg’s arm to try to get her to run. As they turned the corner to gain the hall leading to the exit, Meg stumbled in her staggeringly tall heels again. Castiel dropped her arm and swiftly crouched to throw his shoulder into her stomach, hefting her over his shoulder.

“Hey!!” Meg shouted as one hand smacked Castiel in the back and the other gripped his coat tightly.

“Shut up, Meg!” he barked as he slowed for a second at the sight of the hulking doorman determinedly positioned between them and the way out. Castiel’s left arm snapped out again, this time swinging low to catch the muscle’s right knee with an unfortunately loud crack. The guy collapsed with a shout of pain as his leg buckled under him.

“Holy shit!” Meg yelled in horror from her awkward position. 

Castiel ran for the car and dumped Meg into the passenger seat unceremoniously then dove behind the wheel and tore out of the parking lot, one eye on the rearview mirror.

"It's fine!" he yelled then realized his volume. He took a breath, then another, reminding himself to stay level for the client. "We're fine." He took a corner sharply. "Car's modified, iron in the frame, wards on the chassis. You can’t be touched in here," he assured her in a flat, steady voice.The auto customization was necessary in this line of work, so nothing could grab you on the road.

“We’re fine? We’re FINE?! Cas, what the hell did you do?!” Meg shouted from the passenger seat. One of her hands clutched the “oh shit” handle of the door and the other was braced against the dashboard as she stared wide-eyed out the windshield. “I have to call my boss! Holy fuck, I think you broke that guy’s leg!! I’m going to get fired!”

“You need to sort out your priorities, Meg!” Castiel snapped as he took a corner hard, the back wheels of his sedan sliding over the pavement before he straightened out. He cut his eyes in her direction, her face was drawn and tight and she was angry and shaking. He didn't have time to deal with that, not right now as he looked both ways quickly across an intersection then ran a red light. Coddling a shocked client could wait.

"Your house isn't haunted, Meg. It's you. It's following YOU. That’s the only way it could have appeared at your job. What did you do?!" he barked. She was the key, that's how Alistair knew her name.

Meg turned sharply in his direction. "I didn't _do_ anything! I didn't ask for this! Who in their right mind would want this??" she barked right back at him. 

Castiel yanked hard around another corner and slammed to a stop in front of his building. Jamming the car into park and he turned in his seat to look at her, eyes narrowed and assessing.

"Demon deal? Ten years of supernaturally enhanced seduction skills in exchange for your soul? Playing around with black magic? Or did you buy something shiny and cursed with all your earnings? What??" he demanded as he turned on her the sort of interrogation skills that made him one of the better investigators in his field, hard, relentless, only focused on learning WHY one of the most powerful spirits he'd ever encountered was so focused on this woman.

Her eyes widened at the implication and she threw her hands up. "I haven't done anything, damnit! I didn't even know this shit existed for certain until this damn morning! Maybe it's your fault! It knows you, it said hi and everything!"

Between the running and the shouting and having the crap scared out of her 3 times in one day it was simply too much and she sagged back against the passenger door. One hand landed on her forehead in tired exasperation as nearly all the fight abruptly drained out of her. “I just want it to stop. Aren’t you supposed to make it stop, Cas?” 

He squinted at her, watched her face, her body language; Castiel knew she was a good actress, but the slight tremor from in her frame, the way she flared back at him in indignation, the following hitch downward in her voice that bespoke of exhaustion all said she was genuinely stressed and scared. He leaned back after another minute of scrutinizing her.

"Fine,” he huffed and ran one hand over his head then over his face, trying to scrub away the fatigue that was starting to creep up on now that the adrenalin had started to fade.. “This isn't random. You're targeted. Ghosts come to ...or after specific people for a reason. "

He looked up at his place, it was the best he could do and he knew with absolute certainty it was expertly warded against nearly everything supernatural. He done it all himself. "Come on. My home is the safest place you can possibly be." He jerked his head at the building and slid out of the car, grabbing her bags from the backseat.

“You live here?” Meg eyed him, then the building, with a wry look. “You know, if you wanted me to make a house call you could have just asked, Cas.”

“You’re hilarious, Meg,” he said in a tone that clearly conveyed he thought the exact opposite.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters in the future may be a bit shorter than before, I was finding it a struggle to push out 8-10 pages by the weekly posting date and found a little shorter was more manageable. Thanks for sticking with me and Em this far!

Castiel slipped off his trench coat and handed it to Meg as he picked up her bags headed for the entry of his building, an old tobacco warehouse that had been renovated into split level lofts. She was wearing next to nothing and he did have neighbors, after all. Plus, he just really needed her covered up if he was ever going to get down to actual business.

Meg rolled her eyes as she took his coat and fished her arms through the too long sleeves. “What a gentleman,” she mumbled as she tugged it closed, crossed her arms over her now covered chest and looked up at the brick building. “Figured you for the vanilla house with the picket fence in the ‘burbs, Cas, or maybe one of those McMansions considering how much money you throw at me sometimes.”

He brushed aside her backhanded compliment, she didn't need to know the details of his financial status, and he hip-checked open the front door as Meg followed him, the heels of her shoes occasionally catching in the trailing edge of his long coat.

"I get by."

Once he got his front door unlocked he paced through the open kitchen and den to the steps leading up to the bedroom and sole bathroom to dump her bags on the landing. "You can change, clean up, whatever, up there. I need to work for a bit, contact my employer about all this."

One sleek dark brow raised as she looked around and a whistle passed her lips as Meg took in the glossy tongue and groove floors, stainless steel appliances that looked as though they were rarely used, and dark furniture that spoke of new money and a very spartan, or more likely in Cas’ case an unimaginative, design sense. High ceilings with lots of windows at one end, all the furniture set at precise angles to each other, and nary a TV to be seen anywhere.

_Why am I not surprised he doesn’t have a TV?_

"Do a little more than get by, Cas," she said in an undertone; that fancy-ass coffee maker on the counter alone looked like it cost more than Meg made on a really good night. She did a slow saunter around the den, shrugging out of his coat and dropping it on an armchair as she went. A roll top desk that looked pretty damn antique-y and expensive, several wide and tall bookcases lined one wall and were neatly filled with what looked to be a couple hundred books, all old and dull looking.

Castiel stood by the stairs, watching her. He hadn’t exactly told her to make herself at home, but that’s what Meg appeared to be doing as she leaned over to pull off her heels then dangled them from two fingers as she slowly wandered past his carefully arranged library.

“Don’t touch them,” he said tersely when Meg raised a hand as though she were about to run her fingers along the spines. She gave him an offended look. “…please. Some of them are old and rather delicate.”

“Fiiiine,” she sighed and, apparently finished with her inspection of the downstairs, sauntered over to him. “No touchy the old stuff, I get it,” she mumbled as leaned over to grab her bags, making it a point to brush up against him in an entirely unnecessary manner along the way. The little start Cas gave at the contact made her grin. He could be grumpy and pushy all he wanted, but Meg knew exactly how to take him down a peg when he needed it. 

“The water pressure around here any good?” she inquired as she quirked a knowing look at Cas’ slightly pink face.

“Good enough,” he asserted, not quite meeting her eyes.

“It’s been a long day, think I’ll take your advice. Nice long…hot…shower sounds mmm.” She dragged out each word and fixed the idea of her upstairs, wet, naked in his head quite deliberately. She knew Cas wouldn’t do dick about it, but it was fun to plant the seed, make him squirm. Yes, he’d saved her pretty little bacon this evening, but he was irritatingly bossy and Meg never tolerated any guy taking a high and mighty attitude with her. Picking up her bag she trotted up the steps jauntily and entirely unselfconsciously considering all she was wearing was fancy underwear.

Castiel watched her go, how could he not, it was a rather stunning view, perfect ass tilting from side to side as she climbed. Damned irritating too. She finally disappeared over the landing, and he shook his head to clear it. He was going to have to lay down some ground rules with Meg, apparently. First and foremost wear clothes in the house. Lots of them, ideally some frumpy sweatpants and oversized sweaters.

“Can’t believe the shit I get myself into,” he grumbled as he moved to his desk to fire off an proper update to his employer. A week or two ago he probably, who was he kidding, he definitely would have leapt at the chance to have Meg prance around in front of him wearing an outfit that hardly qualified as two napkins and a string. Now all he wanted was for her to cover her ridiculously smoking body up and stay a minimum of 6 feet away from him at all times. He grunted in irritation as he rattled off his report with sharp taps on the keys, and after he hit send his left hand reached for the bottle of Maker’s Mark and the tumbler that always sat to one side on his desk.

Everyone coped in their own way, and since strippers were now entirely off the table alcohol would have to do. Not too much though, lowering his defenses around Meg too much was clearly a recipe for additional disaster.

Meg found the spacious glass and slate tile bathroom easily enough and thumped her toiletry bag on the counter to the left of the sink and shook her head. Cas’ toothpaste tube, floss and mouthwash were all lined up nearly on the counter at what she was pretty sure was a 90 degree angle to the toothbrush holder. 

“Anal much?” she murmured as she deliberately knocked the toothpaste out of position with a flick of her finger. She proceeded to unpack her hairdryer, flat and curling irons, makeup kit and an assortment of lotions and washes for hair, face, and body. She shoved them all to one side of the counter in an untidy grouping. She might not be neat, but she wasn’t a counter hog.

Wouldn’t kill Cas to deal with a little chaos; he was way too uptight for his own good. Blood pressure probably through the roof.

She nosed through the medicine cabinet, nothing too interesting there: small assortment of prescription painkillers, many several months old by the dates and still half full; a brush that looked like it had never been used, not surprising given the way Cas always looked like he had bed head or sex hair depending on which way it was sticking up; and an aftershave she unscrewed the top off of and took a sniff.

“Yeugh.” Meg hadn’t smelled that on him and she definitely would’ve remembered because whatever was in that bottle was positively eye watering. She crouched to stick it in the cabinet under the sink so Cas didn’t great any bright ideas to slap any of that stuff on. It was horrendous.

Unpacked to her messy satisfaction Meg stripped and tossed her panties on the floor, hung her bra on towel rack along with her knee highs, grabbed her assorted bottles and prodded open the heavy glass door to the spacious shower. She fiddled with the controls for a minute until she realized there were 3 different heads and she could turns on any or all of them. She grinned as she played with the rainfall spout directly over her, then the wall jets behind her that pattered her back with some pretty great pressure, and a handheld showerhead. Now there was a lot of fun a girl could have with that. Maybe later.

“Pretty luxurious for an uptight PI, mmhmm,” she hummed to herself as she found just the right combination of heat and water hitting her from various angles and set about washing up vigorously. It had been a hell of a day and she deserved a little luxury, even if it was in someone else’s house. Least she wasn’t the one paying the water bill. She took her time, humming along to one of her favorite songs and she swayed from side to side as she worked the shampoo through her hair. The acoustics in here were awesome too.

He looked at the clock. It was much closer to dawn that midnight and he’d not slept in a day, thought the last thing he ate might have been something from a vending machine at the courthouse while he’d researched the archives for the history of Meg’s building. He was tired, he was hungry and he needed a shower but there was someone in it…who was singing.

Really badly.

He looked over his shoulder in startlement when a rather pitchy warble filtered from the bathroom. He didn’t know the song but he was fairly certain whoever wrote it never intended it to be sung that way, flat and entirely off-key.

“Cavier and cigarettes! Well versed in etiquette! Extraordinarily niiiIIIIiiice! She’s a killer queen! Gunpower and guillotine! Dynamine with a laser beam! Guaranteed to blow your mind! AnytiiiIIIIiiime!”

Castiel couldn’t help the snort of amusement that escaped him. So the sassy, stunning Meg had a flaw. Good to know. He chuckled dryly to himself as she continued to butcher whatever song that was as she washed up. Castiel wondered if she sang all the time in the shower, he half hoped she didn’t and half did as his shoulders shook slightly in stifled mirth when she hit another god awful note. When the horrendous musical performance stopped he tipped his half full glass in the direction of the stairs in an amused salute before downing the rest and loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. He was desperate to clean up and grab some sleep; it sounded like Meg might be done in the bathroom.

Sure enough her voice floated downstairs a minute later. “Hey, Cas, you got something to drink?”

He wasn’t magnanimous to offer her any of his Maker’s, not this late. “Bottled water in the fridge,” he answered, raising his voice a bit to be heard. He hadn’t exactly been planning on any guests; also whatever was in his fridge might be expired as he took most of his meals on the go. “Maybe some orange…juice…not sure…” he trailed off when Meg ambled downstairs with a towel wrapped around her, another in her hand ruffling her hair to dry it.

“Water’s good, I’m parched,” she tossed in his direction casually as she padded into the kitchen and bent over to reach into the fridge as if he wasn’t sitting right over there with a really good angle to look right up her-

Castiel coughed and looked down on the pretense of…something on the floor being terribly interesting. She was definitely doing that on purpose, but that knowledge didn’t help him at the moment. Whenshe headed back towards the stairs he risked a glance up, keeping his eyes on her face. The difference was a bit startling. 

In a day he'd seen her go from bedraggled smudged after hours Meg, still in her working clothes, to sleep tousled and in what passed for her pajamas, to the completely glammed up vixen he'd become accustomed to and now this. Fresh faced and damp and, he noted when she passed him, smelling a little flowery.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and considered pouring himself another stiff drink. Keeping his eyes on the fifth of Makers than her he informed her gruffly, "If you're...hungry or thirsty, help yourself to...whatever." He shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. He could at least be a decent host or whatever he was at the moment. 

"I'll sleep down here," he added pointlessly, as he doubted Meg would tolerate being relegated to the sofa. He didn't know why he was sure of that fact, he just was.

“Hey, Cas,” Meg called once she got about three-quarters of the way up the stairs.

“What?” he grumbled.

“I like these towels, what are they? Egyptian cotton?”

His eyes raised at the odd question and his jaw dropped slightly at Meg’s definitely evil smirk as she whisked her towel off, casual as could be, and dropped it over the railing to land on the floor below . She proceeded up the last few steps to the bedroom as though she hadn’t just given Castiel the full Monty.

“Damnit, Meg!” he growled.

The only answer he got was smoky laughter.

Castiel jerked his chair around to face his desk once more. He returned his attention to his laptop on the pretext he would simply do a little more work until he was sure she was asleep. Then he could risk going upstairs to clean up without her provoking him again.

Shower, sleep, some actual food rather than coffee and sandwiches grabbed on the go, and his head would be clearer tomorrow. He'd get this sorted out. Set things back to normal. Get Meg back to her place. His house could go back to being empty and his personal and professional lives once again utterly separate.

He kept his eyes firmly on the screen in front of him, tried to ignore the quiet noises of Meg moving around upstairs, and continued to peck at the keys as he laboriously wrote up his notes, all the ingredients he'd used that days so he could bill them, the spells for Charlie to annotate as to their effectiveness, and a request Sam to update the Alastair file with that night’s report before sending the total record to him.

After he fired it off the last couple of emails, responded to one he received back from Charlie because she kept hours just as ridiculous as him, Castiel leaned back in his chair stretched until he felt his back pop. He debated whether he should simply crash on the couch right now, and hold off on the shower until he got at least 4 hours of sleep, or navigate the potential landmine that was Meg upstairs in his bedroom.

He raised a hand to scrub at his face and the whiff he caught of himself settled the debate. Also, this was his damn house; he wasn’t going to let Meg make him feel like he was the intruder here. He repeated that to himself like a mantra as he headed upstairs and ducked into the bathroom quickly.

He stood in front of the sink and examined his reflection before making a disgusted noise. He looked like complete crap: hair ruffled into untidy spikes, bags under his eyes, and more than two days worth of stubble. He’d shave tomorrow, maybe try to tame his hair, pull himself together properly. He slapped on the shower controls and unbuttoned his now hopelessly wrinkled dress shirt and shrugged out of it to drop it into the hamper in the corner. Laundry tomorrow too, maybe.

He rolled his shoulders, he was tight everywhere. The rush of the two close encounters with Alastair and the tension of fending off Meg, trying not look at Meg, just Meg in general had his skin feeling tighter than a drum head. One hand scratched absently at the large circular scar on his chest then another one along his ribs that always seemed a to itch, probably damaged nerves, as he shucked off his pants and boxers and almost staggered into the shower. 

The moment the hot water hit him he sagged against the cool tile and just let it beat down, wash away the stink of the club and his own sweat, blood, and the tinge of iron that seemed a part of his skin. His eyes slipped closed and he leaned his head back against the cool tiles, letting some of the day’s stress sweep away. He jerked his head upright after few minutes later when he realized he was nodding off. He slapped his face crisply to jolt himself awake, even if just for a minute, he quickly finished washing up and snagged a towel before going to the bathroom door and looking through where it had cracked open.

Meg was in bed, thankfully on her side and facing away from the bathroom. He rolled his eyes at himself at the completely inappropriate fizzle that went through that went through him at the sight of that woman in his bed. 

He was pathetic.

And he’d been right when he’d called Meg dangerous before; it was just now there was a spirit stalking her on top of all the other hazardous things about her.

Castiel waited a while to see if she would move, anything to indicate she wasn’t asleep, but she was still. Confident she was out, he slung a towel around his waist and moved quickly to his dresser to grab the first pair of boxers and shirt that presented themselves. He hurried downstairs to haul them on and flop face first on the couch with a completely exhausted grunt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for missing last Saturday's update, but I had surgery on Friday and spent the weekend flat on my back recovering and wasn't up for finishing the chapter. But I'm nearly back to 100% and Em and I are pleased to return to our weekly update schedule with this new chapter!

By 10am, Castiel was up and dressed after he fished through the clothes in the dryer to find a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt. He wasn't about to chance going upstairs and waking Meg if he could at all avoid it. The longer she slept and stayed out of his hair the more time he had to work and re-center his thoughts.

He mentally kicked himself several times while making coffee letting half a dozen things from last night unsettle him, the least of which was the fact that he allowed Meg to rile him up. He had better self-control than that.

This was his house, his case and his client, he grumbled to himself between cups of coffee. He needed to behave a bit more professionally and figure out a way to deal with what appeared to be Meg’s relentless need to harass and tease him.

Thankfully the object of his frustration was still quiet upstairs, and his inbox was full of information. His brow furrowed as he read Dean's response to his report seemed a little chastising, and he flushed in fit of professional embarrassment until he got to the postscript where Dean related a quick story about the extremely flexible yoga teacher he'd hooked up with while ridding her neighborhood of a changeling.

Ok then, so he wasn't the only one who had apparently mixed up a little funny business with regular business. Still, it chafed Castiel's professional pride. He'd been doing this for nearly 20 years and this was the first time he'd had a case this messy right out of the gate.

First time for everything, he supposed. 

But with a few hours sleep he was not clear headed and back in hunt mode, so everything would be fine. He nodded to himself and opened Alastair's comprehensive file, from the first sighting in the 14th century to date. He scowled at the more recent entries. 

He waited as long as he could stand it, mulling over the file and flicking back and forth through it, before his impatience got the better of him. He didn’t care if she was a night owl, the clock had crept up on noon and that was enough sleep for anyone. Maybe a little half-awake questioning might shake some further answers from her. He headed up the stairs, calling Meg’s name to rouse her.

At the top he paused and rubbed his face. Damnit, she had no right to look so harmless curled up in his bed, when he knew damn well she was anything but. She was a hugging a pillow to her stomach in her sleep and her hair fell over her face, a few strands moving each time she exhaled.

He resisted the ridiculous urge to tuck a lock behind her ear and instead gruffly slapped his hand on the foot of the bed twice to get her to stir. “Meg. Get up."

“Nnnngh,” was the only response he got, that and the covers pulling up higher as she tried to drag them over her head.

“Meg! Up!” he barked.

She rolled to her back and slowly sat up, shooting him a very cross and bleary look. "The fuck?” Meg rubbed her eyes and yawned, looking around to reorient herself. 

Right, his place, his bed. Damn nice bed too, huge and comfy, much nicer than hers. She yawned, patting a hand over her mouth as she rubbed her legs against one another and pushed the sheets away.

Castiel went rigid as Meg woke up and slithered from under the covers. Once again what she apparently slept in hardly qualified as pajamas, jut a tank top and miniscule underwear. Great, exactly what he needed this morning, another image to have to shove in the mental lock box that was rapidly filling up with things he would resolutely not think about.

Meg caught the quick flick of his eyes down her bare legs and moved to her knees to indulge in a completely superfluous and unnecessary stretch with her arms over her head and back arched, as though she did this every morning when she woke up. 

“Little early to be wanting a show, Cas,” she quipped.

Castiel scowled back at her before he turned sharply on his heel and practically stalked for the steps back down to the den. “We need to talk. And for god’s sake put on some clothes,” he threw over his shoulder. He needed to have this conversation without additional distractions. Like her damn nipples poking through her shirt.

By the time she graced the kitchen with her presence, Castiel was on his third coffee and was almost visibly relieved she’d dragged on some jeans, a t-shirt, and an expression that said not only was Meg not a morning person, she was not a 12:15pm person either.

He tilted his head at the coffee maker. "Help yourself,” he said evenly, eyes once again lowered to his laptop screen.

Once she’d thoroughly rummaged through his cabinets, taking longer than he thought necessary to locate a mug, she plopped in a chair opposite him with a friendly, “Ok, what the hell is it?”

"Alastair," he began, voice level and calm. He knew the story, could recite vast swaths of it from personal memory, "It is a vengeful spirit, someone who died long ago but never let go of this plane of existence because it wanted revenge on those who caused its death.” He couldn’t dignify the creature by calling it “him.” The spirit had been entirely corrupted long ago, anything human long gone.

“Earliest records on it date back to the 14th century but we believe it’s possibly older than that. The longer a spirit wanders the earth, instead of moving on, the more demented it becomes. Alastair’s original mission of personal vengeance," Castiel shrugged slightly, lifting his hands, "must have ended centuries back. Whether it slew those who killed it or not is of no import. What matters is it is the practically the walking spirit of unholy retribution on the earth, or the closest to it, at least.”

He kept his eyes on Meg's face, which was starting to take on a pinched expression. Good, perhaps she was recognizing some of the significance of what was happening to her now. “For centuries it’s flitted from one vendetta to another. Victims were sometimes selected capriciously, perhaps drawn by corrupted prayers for justice or revenge. We’re not entirely sure, but recent evidence," he tapped his notepad sharply with two fingers, "says that it’s been bound, by powerful spells I can't even begin to wonder about. Restrained by a master to be set upon his enemies."

He steepled his finger under his chin, as though in prayer and looked up at Meg, expression serious. "Why does Fergus Crowley want you dead, Meg?"

The hand raising the mug to her mouth froze. "....How do you know Crowley?"

Castiel quirked an eyebrow at her and sat back in his chair, and his eyes didn’t leave her face. "Investigator, Meg. It's what I do." He spun the computer around to face her and there was Crowley's smug face. "He's been on our radar for a while, not as subtle as he thinks. Now answer the question. What did you do to piss him off so badly?"

Meg rolled her eyes and huffed. “If you know Crowley then you know he’s a dirty son of a bitch whose got his hands in a dozen slimy things: drugs, extortion, protection. Fancies himself a Scotty John Gotti or something.”

Cas’ expression of not-at-all stunned disbelief was almost as amusing as it was annoying.

“What?” Meg huffed and pointed at the side of her head. “I have brains to go with these perky tits, y’know. Like you said, he’s not subtle.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth tipped up, and he raised one hand in placation. “My apologies. Please continue,” he offered with a tilt of his head.

“Well, he’s got a couple of places, legit fronts he uses to run his dirty money through until it comes out all squeaky clean. I used to work at one, Purgatory in Topeka, right before he purchased it from the old owner.”

She took a long draw from her coffee and took her time swallowing it, thinking. Her mouth drew down in a severe frown. “Look, it’s one thing if a dancer offers some extra fun to a customer in the backroom or whatever, but after Crowley bought the joint he got the bright idea to start running the place like a dictatorial whorehouse.” She sat up a bit straighter and pointed a finger at Cas accusingly. “And I knew for a fact a couple of the girls weren’t 18.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw at that information, but he held still. Sounded like Crowley, the man was an abomination. "Go on," he said steadily.

Meg would have killed for a cigarette at the moment, something to keep her hands busy so they didn’t ball into fists, suck down some smoke and puff it out angrily as her temper rose with the re-telling. "Anyway, he starts blowing through town like twice a month, calling girls in for ‘private auditions’ and explaining to them how things were going to work from now on.” She scowled down into her mug at the memory of one dancer, Tessa, who tried to rebel against the new edict and wound up in the ER.

“Me and Crowley never got along so well, he’s a dick, so when he dragged me in there for a personal chat, I objected." One shoulder lifted in a half shrug.

“You…objected,” Castiel stated, clearly expecting additional details.

Meg waved her hand dismissively. “Ok, I objected strenuously.”

Cas’ eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “How strenuously?”

Meg fell conspicuously silent.

Castiel just kept looking at her, not blinking. He didn’t say anything else, only let the silence between them slowly fill up with nothing but the tick of the clock on the wall and the occasional thud when Meg put her coffee mug back down only to pick up again almost immediately as though she needed something in her hand.

She cast her eyes towards the ceiling. “I might have…stabbed him in the side with a corckscrew.”

He continued to sit and watch her. 

“Ok, twice!” She flicked two fingers up. “I stabbed him twice and I’m not sorry!” she shot at him defiantly. “I say who, I say where, and I say how much. Like Pretty Woman. No one decides that for me.”

He shook his head, not even bothering to understand what the hell she meant about pretty women. 

“I’m not judging you.” He wasn’t in any position to, not with the sorts of thing he himself had done over the years. Also, he had a damn good idea what else probably transpired in that meeting with Crowley; no doubt the man expected his dancers to offer him some benefits before he turned them out to customers.

“Ok, so I understand Crowley’s….peeved with you,” he mused before holding up his hand to forestall whatever Meg was about to say. “Not that you might not have been justified, Meg, I’m just thinking aloud. But why set Alastair on you? If he wanted you dead we both know a bullet is easier and quicker, and he’s got the men to do it. There’s something else.” He didn’t phrase that as a question.

Meg didn’t look at him. She seemed quite determined to inspect her nails.

Castiel settled back in his chair and simply listened to the clock continue to tick; the ice maker in the freezer rattled, and a car horn honked somewhere outside.

After nearly 10 minutes of oppressive silence and unflinching staring so hard Meg swore she could feel the weight of Cas’ gaze starting to bore a hole in her head, she flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Ok, fine! I might have tied to him to his chair and gagged him with his own boxers so he was stuck like that all night!”

“And?”

Meg glared at him like somehow all this was his fault. “I took some money. I knew I needed to get the hell out of town and there was a big damn bag of it under the desk, so I took it.” Her arms crossed over her chest defensively. “He was always skimming our tips so at least part of it was mine already,” she said mulishly.

He pursed his lips pensively a moment then asked. “How much?” 

The number Meg muttered was…significant. 

“Ah. That would probably do it. I expect Crowley wants you scared into returning the money. You realize it won’t stop there, Alastair doesn’t just stop. You could just ret-”

Meg cut him off, “I’m not returning it! I’ve had expenses.” 

When she’d fled Topeka Meg took a bit more that just Crowley’s dirty cash and two bags of clothes. Bopping from town to town for a couple of weeks until she finally settled here hadn’t put a dent in the sum; wiring money to Krissy and Hael, the underage dancers, to get them out of town had whittled away at the bottom line more. 

Krissy was sent home to her dad in Conway Springs with enough money to hopefully get them back on their feet so the girl wouldn’t feel the need to leave town and try and earn her own way again. 

Hael got packed off to rehab in Oregon where she had a cousin, the only member of her family who still spoke to her. 

Meg didn’t regret either move. Neither of those girls should have been dancing in the first place, too young, too stupid, and definitely not confident or experienced enough to stand up for themselves when someone pushed them around.

“Expenses,” Castiel said in a deadpan manner.

“Yeah, expenses,” Meg repeated with an eye roll. “And it’s my retirement plan. I won’t be pulling in much when my ass droops to the back of my knees, Cas, and this gig doesn’t come with a 401K.”

“They why are you still strippi-“

“Because you have to plan for retirement,” she broke in again, giving him an arch look that said he was missing the obvious. “I’m trying to be frugal and earn as much as I can while I can because with the way the economy is in the pit my GED isn’t even going to get me a job at a fast food joint.” Meg sniffed dismissively and kicked back from the table to refill her mug. 

“Besides, all that grease is bad for my skin.” She shot him a half smirk, her small joke defusing a bit of the tension in the room.

He held up his hands in surrender. Regardless of what happened to get them to this point, it wasn’t his job to resolve issues about stolen money or dirty business dealings. “Fine, fine. That’s your business. Mine is protecting you. Taking Alastair out for good. Stopping Crowley would be a bonus.”

He watched her for a minute, face implacable, but his mind worked furiously. Crowley was a petty asshole with ceaseless, slimy ambition, always scheming, looking for the next big deal and readily bartering away people to get to it. This sort of play was very like him: despicable and brutal. Sending a vengeful spirit after Meg sounded like just the sort of overkill of which Crowley was fond. 

Why simply put a bullet in her head when a vengeful spirit could terrorize her into revealing where she hid the money? Then Alastair would have its reward and get to tear her limb from limb and toss her into hell.

Not happening.

Meg looked pensive, her painted nails tapping away at the side of her mug. “So I brought this on myself, huh? Great. Faaaaantatic.”

He glared at her, daring her disagree with him as he said, "No, this is not some simple tit for tat. This is cruel and vile and it's not going to happen." He smacked his hand on the table sharply, determined. "We're not talking simple death, Meg. We're talking hell, that’s what Crowley plans for you at the end of this. Fire and brimstone and endless torment. No one deserves that." 

He meant it. No one did, not her, not him, not anyone…well, he’d make an exception for Crowley.

She stared, a bit surprised at his vehemence. “There’s a lot of people out there who’d disagree with you and call me a criminal, Cas,” she snorted before leaning back in her chair and stretching casually like this didn’t actually worry her one bit. 

“Say I’m getting what I deserve for a life of debauchery and sin.” The smirk Meg plastered on her face hitched up and down before finally settling. She managed to get through quite a bit of shit in her life by pasting on an uncaring attitude.

Her usually excellent acting skills fell flat this morning. 

Daylight definitely peeled back a layer or two on her, Castiel thought.

He tilted his head, considering her words, the rictus appearance of that wooden half smile on her face. The half-justification that she tossed out so casually, as though she figured she’d earned being hunted in such an inhuman manner.

"You don't think you deserve to be saved." Something low in his stomach turned over when her mask slipped. She had the look of someone who had been genuinely haunted long before Alastair arrived.

"You're wrong, Meg."  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to weekly updates! Thanks for sticking with me and Em during the short haitus while I recovered from surgery.

The silence following Castiel’s pronouncement had Meg shifting uneasily in her seat after a minute or so. “Yeah…well…the world says different, Cas.” Despite her brash demeanor towards anyone who might condemn her for her choices, Meg wasn’t stupid. She knew damn well what the vast majority of people thought of women like her.

"Mary Magdalene sold her body, yet she was beloved of Christ and walked at his side with the Apostles," Castiel said with quiet assurance. "In the Netherlands what you do is completely legal and regulated; you'd even get state sponsored health insurance." He shrugged. "It's all relative and no one should judge you. I don't." He dragged his eyes away from her and moved to the coffee maker to refill his cup, looking down at it and not Meg. "Do you think what I do always lands on the right side of the law?" He shook his head and leaned against the counter, observing the pinched expression on her face. "I don't lose any sleep at night over it, believe me." Well, he generally slept like crap, but that was mostly due to his crazy hours.

“You give this kind of pep talk to all of your clients, Cas?” Meg queried dryly. It wasn't his job to care about her, boost her spirits with empty platitudes; he was just supposed to rid her of her supernatural problem, take his money and leave.

But it was sort of nice that he tried.

"No," he said as he idly swirled his mug, "most of them want very much to live and don't need it, Meg…. Do you want to?" It didn't matter what she did for a living or why, or even that under all that sass and seeming confidence apparently there was someone who might have actually bought the line of crap the world sold her when it said people like her weren't worth it.

If she wanted to live, it was worth it, and he'd do everything he could to make sure that happened.

Meg used the edge of one fingernail to scrape at an invisible speck on the table, trying to look casual rather than uncomfortable. “Course I do. I mean, I have a nice retirement to look forward to. Someplace tropical where the cabana boys wear less than me,” she drawled. “Or maybe I’ll live just to spite that smarmy dick Crowley.” That idea brought a fuller smirk to her face.

The corner of his mouth tipped in answer. "I think that's as good a reason as any, Meg."

He blew on his coffee a moment then sipped it, looking into his mug. "Besides, the only thing we truly own in life is...our own lives. If you don't think of yourself first, who else is going to?" He hitched one shoulder up in a half-shrug.

Sometimes he said things to other people and wondered if he was trying to convince them or himself. Pretty much his entire career hinged on other people's needs and wants and all his, over the years, had been pushed to the side gradually. The only indulgences he allowed himself were...well, women like Meg. Short, fleeting, mercenary transactions for their respective mutual benefit.

Of course, he was starting to get the idea none of them were like Meg. Not really.

“A real modern day philosopher, huh, Cas?” Meg mused as she went to rinse out her cup and started padding through his home, lifting up his coat where it was folded over a chair, rifling through one of the bags she left at the bottom of the stairs last night. “I can get behind that one, the ‘Me First’ school of thought. Hey, let me use your phone. I have no idea where I tossed mine, and I need to call my boss.” Meg held out her hand expectantly, accustomed as she was to Cas just giving her stuff she demanded.

Which he did, flipping it to her from where it rested next to his laptop. “Ah, yes. I don’t think our departure left a very good impression last night…this morning, whatever.” He wondered if he might get sued for the medical expenses the bouncers surely incurred. Oh well, that was what the Winchesters carried liability insurance for, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d needed it to cover his case work.

She caught the phone with one quick hand, padded over to the fridge and yanked it open to bend over and peer inside. “Damn, Cas. Not expecting company, were you?” She pulled an orange out of the nearly empty fridge and proceeded to peel it.

He felt his face heat up and he yanked his eyes away from her backside when she bent over. “Not exactly, no,” he grumbled into his mug as he drained the last of it. Where did she get off critiquing his place? It was perfectly fine. He just didn’t see the point in fully stocking his kitchen when most of the time he had no idea when he’d be home, which sometimes was not for a couple of days if he was deep into a job.

“Aw, c’mon, I’m just messing with you,” Meg teased as she popped a slice in her mouth and spoke around the bite. “Just like my place only less takeout containers. And I think your cheese is still more food than penicillin colony, unlike mine.”

The undignified snort that escaped him was immediately followed by a violent coughing fit as the last of his drink went down the wrong pipe. He glared at Meg as he thumped his chest a few times; she merely grinned back a tad victoriously.

“Oh, c’mon that was funny, Cas,” she ribbed. “You sleep ok? Or do you always wake up so grouchy and stay that way all day?”

“I slept fine…the couch is fine,” he conceded and rubbed his face. He didn’t realize he was behaving in a disagreeable manner. It was just a bit challenging to put on an appropriate “face the client” demeanor when the client was in his own home and rummaging through his kitchen. “Thank you for asking. You?” Castiel could at least pull together some manners for her sake.

“Mmhm!” Meg nodded, chewing. “Your bed is nice as hell and big. What’s that? A king size? A girl could have a lot of fun with that much real estate to work with.” She winked at him.

“No, she couldn’t,” he retorted, a warning tone in his voice, and Meg simply gave him a very amused look as she dialed his cell and tucked it between her cheek and shoulder.

Damnit, she put that idea in his head on purpose, Castiel just knew it. Rather than continue to sit there and be goaded further by Meg and her apparently endless desire to bait him, he headed for the door under the stairs. A tucked away thing that could be easily mistaken for an entry to a half bath.

What had previously been a storage space, when the building served its original purpose as a warehouse, had been purchased as addition to his loft and specially repurposed by Castiel into his workshop. Sound proofed as best he could make it and connected to his own unit’s electric and ventilation, this was where he fashioned the tools of his trade. Tucked between his unit and the next, it was eight feet wide and ran the entire length of his apartment. A long, low apothecary cabinet ran along one wall, each drawer carefully labeled, with neat cramped script, as to the contents. On the other side was a workbench with tools hung on a pegboard over it. Soldering equipment for the various metal works often needed in his trade sorted neatly to one side, leatherworking and materials to the other, small reams of cloth of various colors folded neatly on shelves underneath. At the far end of the narrow space stood his upright weapons locker. A small selection of handguns, most intricately etched along the muzzle with runic symbols or warding signs. In many cases a gun simply wasn’t effectively, so alongside those hung an assortment of handheld sharp and blunt instruments: double edge daggers, both silver and bronze, a machete or two, a baseball bat cored with iron, asps, stakes made of varying woods and lengths and two made of saint’s bones. The usual.

A lot of Castiel’s work required an up close touch, at which he excelled. 

This was his space, where he did his best work. Diligent, careful, exacting, Castiel preferred to retain absolute control over his arsenal and work kits components. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the stock and supplies of the Agency, most of the investigators relied exclusively on the Winchester’s stores and Sam kept an exemplary inventory. 

Building his own armory, his own store,from the ground up gave Castiel a sense of singular accomplishment.. That he was more than capable of doing the work entirely on his own, totally self-reliant . He didn’t need assistance, not a partner, not the supposed safety net of the Agency behind him. He didn’t need anyone; he could do this on his own. The less people involved, the less of a chance someone would get hurt, besides him.

His home, his entire building was warded; Castiel made sure of that. From the sigils he scraped into the drywall before painting, to the etching in the corners of all his windows, to the protective marks subtly carved into all the external doors of the building and chiseled into the bricks at each of the cardinal directions. Nothing he’d ever encountered could get past the layers of protection with which he’d surrounded his home. Some people might call him paranoid, but it allowed him a measure of comfort, the knowledge that no matter what he did out there, whatever spirits or monsters he pissed off, in here he wouldn’t be bothered, nothing could disturb the sanctuary of his home.

Except the bedeviling woman in the other room.

Once outside the security of his home she'd need protection, and Castiel bent to the task, his hands sorting through his tools and stocks with practiced ease. The work had a restorative and calming effect on his mind, the process of identifying a problem, determining a solution and working through it a balm to the discomfiture he’d experienced since the job began. He only looked up and noted the time, after several hours, when his stomach made the sort of noise it was impossible to ignore. Right, he’d not eaten. Again.

Once he emerged, swiping his forearm over his face to clear it of a light sheen of sweat, he was confronted with a decidedly displeased looking Meg slouched on his sofa with her feet up on his coffee table. “I take it the talk with your employer could have gone better.”

“Yeah, that and the fact that I’ve been sitting here bored out of my fucking mind for 3 hours. Not even a TV. Really, Cas?” she groused, tossing the National Geographic she’s been idly thumbing through onto the table, where it skidded into its mates and they all slipped to the floor in a tumble of glossy pages.

Castiel bit his tongue against chiding her, he’d not actually meant to ignore her. It was just something that tended to happen when he sank into work. “My apologies,” he said as neutrally as possible as he stooped to pick up the magazines to stack them once more and move them out of range of Meg’s bare feet.

“My boss told me I have to pay for all those drinks you smashed and someone,” She emphasized, staring at him meaningfully, “has to cover Rico and Mick’s trip to urgent care for a dislocated knee and a broken arm.” She dropped her feet to the floor and crossed her legs haughtily. “Someone who’s not me.”

"You should understand I had certain priorities at the moment," Castiel ventured. He did what he needed to do to get Meg out of there in one piece. Alastair was nothing to be trifled with. “Unforeseen expenditures are not uncommon in cases like this, Meg. I’ll do what I need to protect you.” He avoided acknowledging her pointed remark that he needed to pay the damages, as he suspected that would cause a disagreement. He’d speak to the Winchesters about it; policy dictated that a damages/liability surcharge be added to her invoice.

It never really bothered him when the client had to pay for a smashed window or piece of furniture or scorched floor or wrecked car; it was simply the cost of doing business with people like him. It was a dirty job on a variety of levels. A coffin unearthing alone could set someone back quite a bit, depending on the season and how deep the stiff was buried.

He wasn’t entirely certain why he felt a twinge of guilt this time.

In what he thought might pass for an effort of appeasement he offered his hand, in it a small circlet of two narrow iron bands twisted around each other in a spiral and a double stitched and embossed strip of black leather with a plain iron clasp to join the two ends together.

She looked at his hand, “What’s that for?" Grateful though she was for his help Meg didn’t like being stuck with cleaning up his mess, especially since he hadn’t apologized, or actually agreed to pay for the medical crap, she noted.

"Iron ring. Iron momentarily disperses a ghost. If Alastair shows up again you can strike it at the very least." He looked at her hand, head canted to one side. "I had to estimate the size…your hands are rather slender." An unbidden thought about how her hand had felt on him, the way her grip could be so firm one moment then soft the next, started to emerge and he quashed it quickly. “I suspect you have a decent right cross,” he added, recalling the vicious slap he’d seen her administer to a rowdy customer.

"Salt collar." He prodded it with his finger, tracing the sturdy double stitching along each edge that cound the strips of leather together over a line of Dead Sea salt. It wasn't his cleanest work, but he needed to be quick. "Ghosts can't cross a line of salt. Keep that on your neck and it shouldn't be able to touch you, there at least." Castiel had not made one so small before that rested so high on a client's body. He wasn't entirely confident her torso or limbs would be spared from the ghosts' searing cold touch, but he supposed a field test would be the only way to be sure. An unpleasant thought. "I would have made a belt, but considering...your job..." he trailed off with a slight wave of his hand in her direction.

Meg plucked them from his hands, turning them over in hers as she inspected them..

“I embossed wards into the leather, should offer additional protection,” he added a bit pointlessly, unsure why he was eager to fill the momentary quiet as Meg tried the ring on each finger until it settled at the base of the middle on her right hand, then peered at the collar as her painted nails traced a sigil in the center.

Meg looked at up him, the cross look on her face now speculative. “Aw, presents. Now I don't know if you're being sweet or just doing your job," she remarked the archly then removed the corded necklace she usually wore and took a minute to string her charms onto the narrow collar before she held it up. “Whadya think, Cas?”

He smiled slightly in acknowledgement. “That works. So...you like it?” Why the hell did he sound like he was asking for her approval? She just needed to wear the thing, not love it.

“Yup,” Meg said, popping her lips, “I loooooove leather. Put it on me.” She dropped the collar back in his hand, jumped up and turned, presenting her back as she lifted up the curtain of her dark hair.

He blinked, a little taken aback, but she’d not exactly asked and Castiel realized he’d developed a bit of a habit of automatically giving in to her on the smaller things. He lowered his hands over her head and slipped the leather around her neck, fingers stumbling over the clasp a few times until he secured it. The tips of her hair where she held it up brushed against his forearms as he moved and the memory of burying a hand in her hair washed over him, like a wave that sent him hopping back lest he get pulled into the deep.

He cleared his throat and leaned away from her. "Not too tight?"

“Not at all. How do I look?” Meg turned in a complete circle, striking a saucy pose with her ring hand stretched out in front of her as though presenting a huge gemstone rather than a humble dark band.

Castiel felt an unfamiliar tugging at the corner of his mouth at her antics, and he couldn't help the way his gaze traveled over her from the crown of her head to her feet, noting that the red polish on two of her toes had chipped and he liked her hair this way, loose, unbrushed, a little wild, just like her.

“You look…very nice, Meg.”

“Y’know, I figured one day a customer might give me a ring,” Meg confided, one dark eyebrow arching up slyly. “Kinda bummed you didn’t get down one knee, Cas.”

“You’ll just have to settle for tetanus if it rusts, the gift that keeps on giving,” he shot back.

“Well, well, well, look who developed a sense of humor overnight,” she chuckled and punched him lightly in the arm. “Just gotta match my work clothes to it, but I think I got just the thing.”

“Please feel free not to share,” Castiel deadpanned, entirely too curious for his own good about the variety of Meg’s costumes and, at the same time, internally dreading her wardrobe selection.

“Ooh and the funnies just keep on coming,” Meg snorted, an entertainingly rude sound. “But seriously, I gotta work tonight and all I’ve had is some java and an orange today, Cas. Your cabinets are emptier than a banker’s heart. I need fooooood.”

It was his turn to stifle a noise of amusement. “Alright, I can take an entirely unsubtle hint. You should stay here; I’ll run down to the store and get some things. I'll be back shortly." He stooped to retie his sneakers then grabbed his wallet. It was nice out and he could do with a run to clear his head and work out the ache in his neck from hunching over his leatherworking tools.

Meg looked around, her bare foot sliding back and forth over the polished wood floor. “Ok, just, y’know, hurry back. No offense, but this place is kinda boring by myself, and that thing is seriously creepy.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at a kachina mask hanging on one wall.

“Yes, best not to touch that,” he said mildly as opened the front door. “Actually, it’s probably a good idea to avoid touching anything on the bookshelves, walls, or my desk.”

Meg’s mouth dropped open slightly and she turned from side to side, looking around as though suddenly assessing exactly how far she was from all the potentially creepy things in the room. She took two steps to the left in an apparent bid to get a bit of distance between her and what was actually an entirely benign Tibetan scroll framed on the closest wall, and Castiel couldn’t help the smug look that crossed his face.

“…wait a second. Are you fucking with me?” Meg wondered.

“Back in a bit,” he said quickly and ducked out the door. Meg’s shout of “Just for that you better bring me back some chocolate, Cas! CHOCOLATE!” followed him outside where in broke into a jog, grinning to himself.


	10. Chapter 10

My apologies for not updating this week or last, but my home was broken into for the 2nd time in 13 months and once again all my electronics including my laptop was stolen.. Unfortunately, this time they also took my jewelry box which held my deceased sister's wedding band, that I was keeping for her daughter, and also my great-grandmother's locket. That was the worst part, those cannot be replaced unlike the tv and computers that were taken.

Between dealing with the theft, buying a new computer, and looking for a new place to live (with alarms!) and the Thanksgiving holiday I'm sure readers of Hello Stranger will understand why it hasn't been updated that last 2 weeks.

However, the good news is I have a new laptop and am currently writing the next chapter! I fully expect to update next Saturday and get back on the weekly update schedule after this.

Thanks for sticking with me and Em through this story and the various delays to date. We really appreciate your support and feedback!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After an 2 month hiatus due to a wide variety of personal problems such as my home being broken into for the 2nd time in 13 months, the holidays, moving to a new safer home (shit has alarms out the ying-yang!), buying a new laptop that totally sucked, returning it and buying another which is also driving me batshit crazy (thanks Windows 8, I hate you too)...A NEW CHAPTER.
> 
> After taking a break for so long it was a lot of fun writing again this week, so much so I started on the next chapter already. I'm now very optimistic about getting back on weekly updates each Saturday!
> 
> Thanks for your patience during the unplanned break. Thank god for insurance is all I got to say!

When the door banged shut behind Castiel, Meg rolled her eyes briefly then launched into an immediate and thorough inspection of his place. 

"Nooooo touchy the weird crap,” she reminded herself as she immediately scampered upstairs to snoop through his room, which was thankfully free of unknown and ominous looking wall stuff and knick knacks. She hadn’t looked too closely but damn if that thing on a shelf behind his desk downstairs didn’t look like a shrunken head. She really didn’t need absolute confirmation that Castiel was certifiable, not when she was apparently bunking with him for the foreseeable future.

Cas’ bedroom was delightfully innocuous at the moment, and she felt quite free in yanking open his closet and rifling through his stuff, as she’d not had time the night before to poke about. Something about being chased all over town by a ghost had tamped down her natural nosiness then. 

Not that any of Cas’ stuff up here was particularly exciting: dark suits, dress shirts, slacks, etc.. All a bit wrinkled and his shoes were irritatingly, perfectly lined up in neat rows on the floor, even his little collection of running shoes. 

_So he runs. Whoop de doo._

Meg was looking for dirt.

So downstairs he was apparently all Mr. Scary Investigator with his weird scrolls shriveled heads, and up here he was as dull as he’d first seemed to her.

“C’mon, Cas, you gotta have something,” Meg mused aloud to herself as she thumped his closet shut and yanked open the drawers on his dresser. “No photos, no porn, not even a box of condoms or a Christmas card? What’s up with that?” 

She poked around his boxers, musing on the completely lack of personality in Cas’ bedroom, no intimate touches that revealed anything at all about him. No photos on the dresser of a vacation or graduation, no posters or art on the walls that revealed anything about his personal taste, no t-shirts with dorky sayings that might reveal he was a closet geek or one of those “make me a sandwich” assholes.

She snorted, not at all impressed by all the shades of black and navy boxers in the top drawer and the complete lack of dirty skin mags most guys hide in there, when a bright shade of red caught her eye. Meg quietly wolf whistled to herself as she spun a surprisingly small set of red briefs on two fingers.

"Not bad, P.I. Guy, but I got a feeling you never wear these. But where’d you get them? Some girl buy them for you or did you just feel a bit frisky one day at the bargain bin at Wal-Mart? Hmmmm."

Unearthing nothing else of note from his wardrobe, Meg poked through his bedside table. Empty except a small box of tissues, a notepad with weird scratchings on it, and a few charm type things, one that looked like a little carved wooden head with horns that she had no desire to touch, but nothing she recognized that she could tease him about. Not even a bottle of lube or lotion.

“Jeez, go dry much, Cas?” she snorted to herself as she made her way back downstairs.

"Oh my god, even his kitchen is dull," she pouted as she rifled through his cabinets and drawers, pantry and fridge, finding the same things you'd suspect in anyone's kitchen. Just some clear indications Cas didn’t cook or even eat here often, based on how shriveled those two lemons in the fridge were. 

Well, ok there was the bottom left crisper drawer than when she opened it had some seriously weird looking roots in it that made her slam it shut quickly on instinct.

“Ok, I take it back. The stuff that isn’t boring is making my Spidey senses tingle,” she amended to herself as she back away from the fridge then flinched when she almost backed into some weird looking tribal mask hung on the wall at shoulder height.

She gnawed her lip as she looked around; this place was all creepy satanic looking work-related stuff and a blinding lack of actual personality of the occupant. She had zero clue as to what kind of guy Cas was besides utterly obsessed with his job and glaringly single.

She turned in a circle, reluctant to admit she’d dug up almost no new or interesting information about her surly protector, when her eyes lit upon the door under the staircase. She’d thought it was a closet or maybe one of those half bathrooms, but Cas had vanished into it and emerged hours later with her ring and new charm collar. 

She flipped the latch and cautiously poked her head in and peered around a moment before grinning. There were leather straps, chains, tools and restraints all over the walls. 

_Cas, you kinky bastard._

She chuckled to herself as she strolled about, “Look at you, got me thinking you’re all straight edge and you’re holding out on m-“

Meg had been trailing her fingers along tidy bench tops and making appreciative murmurs over a neat pile of leather in various colors when she drew herself up short at the sight of what looked like a wide locker. “Ooh, whatcha got here?” Meg queried as she twisted the handle this way and that until it gave, “Dirty jocks or the Crown jewels or…ah alright then...shit…”

Or weapons. A whole fuck ton of them. Guns and knives and, damn if that didn’t look like one of those curved sword things… what was it? A scimitar.

Meg wasn’t exactly an expert, but these didn’t look like display pieces, some shiny pretty things with dulled edges some guys liked to show off as penis extensions. They looked like they’d seen some use. Plenty of use actually, considering one strange looking 3-sided short sword had what she had to admit, given the entire context of Cas and ghosts and all the crazy shit, was probably blood.

“Okaaaaay,” Meg held up her hands to no one and decided her pretty little ass was better preserved minding its own business right now, and she ducked out of the room. She was Cas’ client. Wasn’t like he was going to use any of that stuff on her. Still, best not to take chances. 

Plunking herself back down on the sofa, Meg picked up another magazine and toed the rest to fall on to the floor since they were all boring Net Geos and not US Weekly. 

She sighed, “Not even a fucking TV.”

Castiel, meanwhile, was a little lost in the grocery store as he had no idea what Meg would eat, if she had any preferences of food allergies. After a few minutes standing in front of the frozen meals section he realized that picking up Lean Cuisines might not be a good idea. Maybe she'd think he was saying she should watch her figure. On the other hand, with that body she could be a very conscientious eater, picky even. He frowned as he considered the myriad of vegetarian options in the adjacent case.

Then again, dancing was quite physical so she could, potentially, eat like horse and work it all off each night. He opened then closed the door on the frozen pizzas, uncertain. Meg was also very slight in build. She could be one of those fortunate people with metabolism like a hummingbird in general.

He stared blankly at a stack of Hungry Man frozen dinners for a while before he visibly shook himself. He’d just spent more time contemplating the food habits of a stripper he barely knew than he’d probably dedicated to his own over the last several years. 

And he was no closer to knowing what the hell to buy.

This was the problem he had with women; he literally did not know any outside the agency. The ones he was acquainted with due to the job he’d easily kept their acquaintance only surface deep, not interested in knowing more about them than what was necessary to close cases effectively. Castiel had determined years ago, thanks to his less than orthodox upbringing and job, that it was easier to avoid any sort of genuine intimacy. 

People rejected you or eventually died, those were literally the only two inevitable outcomes of relationships. Fleeting physicality was easier to handle, less messy.

He wasn’t exactly the most subtle or circumspect man when it came to women, or people, in general. His difficulty in remembering polite social norms was practically his hallmark, and Dean informed him ages ago he came off as rude and sometimes bizarrely naïve in a way that unsettled people.

It made him a good investigator and a shitty friend.

His social life wasn’t improved by the fact that the moment anyone started discussing anything personal at work he sighed in an impatient way and often walked out of the room, having nothing of his own he desired contribute to the conversation.  
In his mind they were there to work, not gossip. In nearly everyone else’s mind Castiel was a dick.

He made a noise of mild frustration and closed the freezer door, after snatching up some chicken, and headed for produce. He'd just buy what he normally ate on the rare occasion made time to shop and actually put something beside condiments and spell ingredients in the fridge. Energy bars, granola, whole wheat pasta, salad stuff, additional protein, honey Nut Cheerios, and something better than his usual coffee. Meg would probably appreciate that.

When he actually recognized the idle thought that nearly drifted right past him, he put the coffee back. He wasn’t buying damn Costa Rica dark roast because she’d like it. 

On the other hand, if he had to share his living space with her the least he deserved was a little treat to himself for tolerating it. He picked it up again.

No, nothing was going to change. Client, case, closed, moving on. He put it back down. 

It was back in his cart as he headed for check out, reasoning with himself that indulging in a better cup of java in the morning wasn’t a sin and a little extra pick-me-up would be needed if he kept sleeping on the sofa.

Walking back to his place at a brisk pace and toting a few bags, Castiel squinted in the afternoon sun and thought about the whole Crowley affair. He'd need to keep Meg out of the way when he dealt with that. Likely he'd have to call in another investigator or two, maybe Hester; she was a very skilled interrogator and had taught him a couple of things. They'd need to locate whatever pieces of Alastair's remains Crowley had that allowed him direct the vengeful spirit and make sure the bastard didn't start on Meg again once they got rid of his freak on a leash. 

Could get ugly. Hopefully it would get ugly. Crowley had been a pain in the Winchester Agency’s side for a long time and burying that hellspawn would be the highlight of Castiel’s career, if it shook out that way. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Of course.

“…shit” Two blocks from the grocery Castiel spun on his heel and stalked back to the shop, muttering under his breath the whole way. When he emerged a couple of minutes later two chocolate bars were tucked into a bag.

Meg perked up when the door open and twisted her head to look over the back of the couch. "I'm starving. What did you get?" She was off the couch in record time and leaning into his space, blithely ignoring the way he stiffened and took a step back as she practically pawed through the bags.

“I had to assume you don’t have any food allergies or an aversion to pasta,” he said gruffly as he dumped the bags on the counter and grabbed a pot to unceremoniously open a can of plain tomato pasta sauce into it. Bachelor cooking was the only kind he knew. Most days he picked up something at the deli near the agency’s offices or lived off coffee and energy bars if he was deep into a case and on the run.

“You can cook?” Meg queried with an arched eyebrow. “Never would have guessed by how pristine your kitc-" she stopped when he just slopped some sauce into a pot.

“I know enough to get by," he responded then grabbed out a jar of minced garlic from the fridge door, unscrewed the top and sniffed it. It worked as a casting agent and for the rare times he threw together spaghetti. It looked a little dry, but he supposed it would work. Probably. He scooped out a spoonful and tossed into the pot and stirred for a second. He put on some water to boil for noodles and checked the clock. "Fifteen minutes it'll be ready."

For some reason he got the feeling he was being inspected and looked over at Meg. She had a look on her face, something highly skeptical. "What?"

“I take it back,” Meg grimaced; she could practically taste the bland awfulness of what Cas apparently thought passed for a meal. "I’m going to assume your taste buds are dead.” Castiel opened his mouth as if to respond and she flung her hand up. “Shut up. This isn't some fucking spell recipe or whatever. You can't just toss shit in there because you don't think it'll kill you, Cas," the shortened version of his name coming quite naturally to her by now, as was getting in her digs. “Is this how you normally make spaghetti? Because I can bet you a hundred bucks that what you're trying to make is not spaghetti.”

He pointed a spoon at her, expression stern. "First of all, spell casting is an exact science.” He pursed his lips, something Meg noticed he did when thinking hard…or was maybe just constipated. Hard to tell with Cas. 

_Guy probably needs more fiber._

“Well, it's not actually a science, but it's very precise. I don't just 'toss shit'." He made finger quotes, which struck her as absurd, then turned his back on her and made a point to stir the sauce again. "Secondly, my taste buds work just fine. Third, it's just tomatoes, garlic and noodles, it's not hard."

Meg rolled her eyes then walked around the kitchen island to try to save what was her first meal in nearly day. "You’re hopeless!" She snatched the wooden spoon out of his hand, hip checked him to bump him away from the pot, then brandished the utensil at his face like a weapon. "You're not allowed to touch the sauce until I'm done with it, got it?"

He stumbled when she knocked him aside and disarmed him with a brusque, yet effective, move and held up his hands when she stuck the spoon practically in his eye. "Whoa, ok, fine,” he grumbled and backed off when it became clear she would whack him with it if he tried to reclaim to the stove. “You’re really bossy.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Um, duh! Now where's some salt? And I mean kitchen salt, not ghosty salt"

The corner of his mouth ticked up at that. "For your information common kitchen salt is ‘ghosty salt.’" He reached over her head to open the cabinet above the stove and retrieved it. "Multi-purpose, seasons food and effective against many supernatural forces."

The scowl on her face lessened as she snorted, put the spoon back in the pot, and took the salt from him. "Good to know, I'll remember that when I see Casper." She poured a some into her palm then dumped it in the pot of water. She dared to taste the sauce before making any decisions about how to rescue it. “Ugh, how are you not dead yet?" She made another face then added some salt to that also.

"I'm good in a fight," Castiel said dryly as he tilted his head to watch her work. He knew he wasn't a gourmet by any stretch of the imagination; when he made anything at home it was quick, simple. Might be healthy if there was a vegetable serving in a tv dinner or on his burger. He didn’t have an inclination to experiment in the kitchen; any creativity or improvisation he possessed was reserved for his job. He knew that way of thinking left him lacking in quite a few areas, most of them social and domestic. No one complained because there was no one there to do so, at least until today.

"Fine, I'm not a chef," he groused and leaned against the counter before offering, in a somewhat defensive manner, "Do you at least need a hand?" Far be it from him to not at least render assistance if someone was making dinner in his own kitchen. First time for everything, literally.

She thought for a moment, her face the very picture of doubt, before she rifled through a bag and pulled out an onion, mushrooms, and some passable tomatoes. "Make yourself useful and chop this stuff up." She lobbed the onion at him, underhand. “Chunks, don’t dice or mash or commit any other culinary crimes in here or I will-” She waved the spoon menacingly towards him even as one side of her mouth tipped up a fraction.

His hand snatched the onion out of the air automatically, his response snippy, "I'll have you know I'm a deft hand with a knife." He was, only he typically used blades to impale one monster or another. But Castiel never backed down from a challenge, at least not one involving potential weapons, so he he grabbed a knife from the slightly dusty butcher's block on the counter and got to work. After a minute his eyes started to itch; he rubbed the left without thinking and immediately regretted it. 

"Ffffff. Snrk." He kept chopping and ducked his head down once or twice to try to scrub his face with his shoulder.

Meg’s back was to him as she rummaged through his cabinets once more, on the search for something to give the sauce at least some taste, a little kick, and seized a jar of red pepper flakes. At the sound of a sniffle she looked over her shoulder. 

“Are you...crying?” The last word came out in a stifled laugh. “I promise you’re causing the little vegetable no pain.” she teased. “Did the Tin Man just grow a heart?”

Castiel tried to glare at her but the effect was entirely lost when he sniffed again loudly and dragged up his t-shirt collar to wipe his nose. "You should do stand up," he retorted and flicked a piece of onion at her with a sharp flick of his fingers.

He had unfortunately accurate, or perhaps just unlucky, aim with that piece of onion, and it skipped off her collarbone and dropped down her low v-neck. "Hey! This is a clean t-shirt and that’s damn unsanitary, Cas!” She huffed and glared down her neckline. “Got half a mind to make you to fish that out!” She leaned over and pointed one painted nail at her daring cleavage like a threat.

He raised an eyebrow at her imperious tone. Meg had, in the span of a few hours, basically kicked him out of his own bed, flung her crap all over his bathroom counter, flounced around his place like she owned it, nearly driven him out of his kitchen at threat of a wooden spoon and now she was bossing him again, practically daring him this time.

He slapped the knife down on the cutting board and stepped well inside whatever passed for her personal space, frowning down at her as his hand lifted.

Meg’s brows arched in surprise and she felt a sudden urge to take a step back, except she was already pressed against the counter. Cas was possibly, slightly, ok definitely, really intense sometimes and this was one of them. Her petulant expression slipped a fraction and her arms dropped behind her to grab the edge of the counter.

He stared down at her for a moment, blue eyes boring into brown, and Meg felt something funny hitch at the back of her throat that made her swallow unconsciously. 

“…you actually gonna do something about it, Cas?” she asked in a voice a little too faint for her taste.

Cas’ fingers caught on the edge of the thin excuse for a shirt, fingertips barely skirting her skin and, with a swift tug, he flapped the hem back and forth and let the bit of food drop to the floor at her feet. He didn’t look down, just flicked her the edge of her shirt free and stepped back. He turned back to his place at the counter, picked up the knife, and starting slicing mushroom. The corner of his mouth twitched one, twice, before settling back into it’s usual slightly downturned line.

She stood there a moment, staring at him.

_What the hell was that?_

_Ah…fuck._


	12. Chapter 12

The rest of the meal preparation was a quiet affair, each person seemingly focused on their tasks and Meg on trying to suss out exactly what had strangely shifted for a moment between them. Something had tipped in Cas’ direction and, for a moment, she'd found herself on unsteady ground. Not her favorite place.

When she sat at the kitchen table Meg had to remind herself she was the one who’d demanded food, as her appetite had slipped away. She twirled her fork in a circle longer than was probably necessary, as Cas leaned against the counter with his plate and tried a bite. A thoughtful look crossed his face as he chewed. Meg wondered if Cas ever did anything without over-thinking the hell out of it.

“It’s good. Better than mine,” Cas admitted in a somewhat stilted voice, as though it pained him to be wrong.

“You’re just saying that because anything would taste better than yours. Seriously. Anything, the sole of my shoe would have more flavor.”

He pointed a fork at her, chewing. “Hey, I’ve been eating it that way for years. It’s perfectly…” he swallowed around his mouthful then dug back in, reaching across the counter to grab a paper towel to wipe his mouth, “palatable.”

She snorted at both his answer and his position. “Eating over the sink? Really? Cas, quit being a savage and sit down.” A surprised expression crossed his face and he stilled, plate still held near his chest and paper towel crumpled in his fist, before he looked down at himself then at her seated at the table with a chair and a napkin and everything.

He slid into the seat opposite hers and settled his plate, not exactly looking at her. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Wasn’t even aware I was doing that.”

She waved it off. “Bachelor living, I get it. If you were stuck in my house you’d catch me drinking from the milk carton or something.” When his face scrunched at that Meg rolled her eyes. “I won’t do it here, Cas. Jeez, you don’t care about my cooties when I’m in your lap,” she reminded him.

Cas’ expression closed off slightly at that and he looked down at his plate, concentrating on the food. “I was thinking that if I’m to accompany you to work, it would be a good idea to,” he paused and took a bite, trying to determine how to phrase it without sounded deliberately rude, “…mm…ok this is really good,” he admitted before getting back on track, “If I have to go to work with you then you just do your…thing.” He twirled his fork in a small circle in her direction. “As if I’m not there. Just let me work and watch you… keep an eye on you…for you. Keep an eye out for you.” He huffed at himself for not being able to say it right the first time. He was grateful for the meal in front of him, the perfect excuse to quit talking.

Meg chuckled softly at his fumbling. “No lap dances, huh? All business?” She leaned forward, voice lowered, eager to press her temporary advantage where he was the one who appeared off kilter and not her. “Do I distract you?”

He didn’t look up and just ate slowly, deliberately, like it was something that deserved all his attention. “I don’t want a repeat of last night. If you see Alastair you come and get me. He shouldn’t be able to touch you with those wardings.” He wagged a finger in her general direction without raising his eyes. “Just notify me and we’ll leave. Orderly, quick. No need to scream like a banshee again.”

“Gotcha, no screaming,” she agreed. “But VIP room parties, you know how they go, you might hear some moaning. Gonna listen at the door, Cas?” Meg propped her chin in her hand and leveled him with a heavy enough look that she knew he could practically feel it; she was rewarded with confirmation when his shoulders started to draw up defensively.

He paused with another bite halfway to his mouth then put the fork down with an air of finality. “You know what I'm talking about, Meg. I'm trying to help you here, and I'd appreciate a little cooperation on this. This isn’t exactly easy for me, you know.” 

Shit, he hadn't meant to say that last part. And when the hell was any job about what was easy for him? She was turning his head around, damnit.

She was in his house, in his bed, in his shower and she was his client and…crap. He had to sit in a damn strip club and watch her throw herself at every open wallet and wind herself around a fucking pole and just sit there and watch it all and, on top of that, somehow figure out how to keep his mind on the damn job he'd been hired to do.

In irritation he pushed away and dumped his plate in the sink with a clatter before ducking back into his workshop under the steps. The only place in the house he could escape entirely from her. 

“You’re welcome for dinner!” Meg called at the as the door banged shut behind him. She crossed her arms over her chest and grumbled under her breath. She wasn’t sure who she was more annoyed with, Cas for being such an annoyingly uptight stick in the mud or herself for being unable to resist baiting the guy who was trying to protect her. There was just something about him she couldn’t help but needle. 

She finished her own food and packed away the leftovers before stalking up the stairs, making sure to stomp a bit over where Cas was hiding, no other word for it, so he understood he wasn't the only one who could be cranky.

At the obvious angry stamps over his head, Cas sighed and sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening for patience. 

Great, he’d ticked the client off, again. But damnit she’d done it first! He massaged his temples and chided himself for acting like a child. 

She started it. What was he, seven? 

He simply needed to clear up some things with Meg, in a rational and mature fashion. Lines were getting crossed all over the place and her life was on the line, literally. Worse, she wasn’t taking this as seriously as she really needed to. It was one thing to have a moment of respite, some back and forth lighter conversation about innocuous things like his shitty cooking, which had been…actually sort of nice. Weird, the way he’d been able to talk to her more freely than usual. Joke even. He didn’t joke. It had been a pleasant lull in the tension of the whole arrangement, the entire messy job. Right up until she crossed a line and they were back to sniping at each other.

He scrubbed his face and idly opened a few drawers in the apothecary cabinet, not really looking for anything other than something to busy his hands so he didn’t facepalm himself. Whatever, if she was ticked at him at least maybe she'd lay off a bit with the dropping her towel and acting like she intended to whisk his pants off, bleed him mentally and financially dry while at the same time running up a large bill of her own. He made a mental note to himself to get Dean to shoot her an invoice for services to date. Maybe that would wake her up to the price that would be paid for this misadventure.

After stomping up the steps, Meg haughtily ran a hand through her hair and started getting ready for work, her motions jerky and rushed in irritation.

_Mr. Can’t Take a Damn Joke can hide in his little dungeon. Mr. Eyefuck can starve with his shitty pasta._

She went over to her suitcase and overturned it to spill her clothes onto the floor. Not like she had a drawer or even a few inches of closet space. She held up a sheer dark purple babydoll then tossed it over one shoulder. A pair of fishnets joined it then a rubberized garter and panty set, the growing pile of dismissed lace and latex growing as her bag emptied. Her fingernails snagged on bundle. She pulled it out, thinking, then looked over at the digital clock on Cas’ dresser. “Well, it is fetish night,” she murmured then settled on the floor, legs tucked under her to untangle the jumble of straps.

Once the somewhat daunting looking contraption was smoothed out and she’d finally reminded herself exactly how it was put on, she whisked off her own clothes and trotted to the bathroom to get ready. A quick wash, a quick run of the brush through her hair so I tumbled loose and tousled, and a long while spent decorating her face and dabbing a fun, slightly spicy scent into the hollows behind her knees, her elbows, behind each ear. With a small cloud spritzed into the air for her to walk through Meg’s irritation had settled down once more. Something about putting on her mask always made me feel so much more certain, like nothing and no one could hurt her. If anything, when she finished dolling up, Cas would likely be the one in pain. 

Not that she really wanted to hurt the guy, he just rubbed her the wrong way so badly that her knee jerk reaction was to poke him in a sore spot.

She took her time stepping carefully into her outfit, tucking and tugging and adjusting straps that encircled her body and clung to each curve, at the same time revealing a hell of a lot more than hiding. Just a few strips of black leather crisscrossing her breasts, carefully tugged into place to just barely cover the best parts, encircling her waist and accenting the way it dipped in here, how her hips flared out there. When she turned to peek over her shoulder at her reflection she hummed, pleased, at the positively scandalous view of her backside so prettily framed with just a her black thong and a buttery soft strap under each cheek that gave her booty just that extra bump she knew killed most men.

Content with her look at the moment, she perched on the edge of the bed to tug on her boots: mid-thigh, shiny, second skin tight when she tugged the zipper up. She stretched and flexed for a few minutes, checking herself from every angle in the mirror over the dresser, made sure everything was tucked into place just right. Satisfied, she leaned toward her reflection and carefully touched up her lipstick, a deep scarlet she just adored called Hellfire. On a whim smacked her lips on the mirror and left a fiery imprint.

_Hey, who wouldn’t wanna kiss me when I look this damn good?_

Ok, she knew the answer to that one, but didn’t let it sour her mood. Fetish night was profitable as hell and that always made her cheery.

She kicked her foot through the pile of discarded clothes on the floor until she unearthed her shiny vinyl coat, a favorite to wear to work because it covered her ass and worked with just about every outfit she owned. She buttoned it up, tightened the belt around the waist to give her exactly the sort of silhouette she was going for then headed down the stairs. Her heels clicked sharply on each step, a series quick sharp taps that sounded all business.

“Cas, I gotta get to work,” she called, rapping sharply on the door under the stairs. “You got 5 minutes or I’m taking a cab.” She wouldn’t, of course; she didn’t want to go out unescorted with that Alastair thing around, but it didn’t hurt to give him an incentive to creep out of his hidey-hole faster.

“You are not,” he announced as he, predictably, swung the door inward immediately at her threat. “You’re on 24 hour protec-“ His eyes swept over her, from the crown of her softly waved hair, over her perilous curves, and down to her wicked boots, and he swallowed visibly, “-tion. Ah…right…work.” Cas briskly rubbed his face as if trying to wake himself up. “Five minutes. No cab.” He gave her a stern look that clearly worked hard to stay on his face before he hurried upstairs. 

A whore’s bath from the sink for him then, no time for a proper shower. He brusquely freshened up and tried to yank his mind back from wondering what she was wearing, or probably more aptly not wearing, under that coat. She was going to work, so was he, and the line between how and the unexpected, and regrettably temporary, cordiality of the afternoon was clearly drawn again. When Meg put on her working clothes and face he felt like he was about to wade into a complicated battle against his desires and his responsibilities. 

If he ever had a case like this again, ego be damned, he'd demand Dean re-assign him. 

Dragging on one of his nearly identical suits and ties helped his mind resettle into job mode. While she was working, he'd keep one eye on her and the other on phone, planning to re-read Alastair and Crowley's entire files. He’d worked out something of a game plan in his head, contact Hester and start setting up a gambit to get to Crowley, learn his routine, his current favorite haunts and habits, work on locating all the spider holes for what they knew was a large collection of supernatural relics. Eventually squeeze the info about Alastair's remains from him. Wouldn't hurt to have his collection as leverage.

Castiel gave up shaving today as a bad job and resettled his trenchcoat over his own shoulders, feeling better girded for the war this evening could turn out to be. Hurrying downstairs he deliberately looked away from Meg, especially those dark leather clad legs perched on his couch like they belonged there, and methodically filled his coats' pockets with the necessary tools for the evening: salt, iron asp and chain, rosary, flask of holy water, his Arcanic Compendium, notebook, phone, keys, wallet, etc.

When done he stood by the door and cleared his throat. "Anytime you're ready." His gesture towards the door was a little more expansive than he intended, the dip of his head a sort of mocking bow to Meg.

As she passed him she tipped him a small smile, not a smirk. “All suited up and pockets full of hoodoo. Making my nethers quiver, Cas.”

“Your erotic proclivities are none of my business, Meg,” he reminded her in an impatient tone. Frowning, he followed her down the stairs to the sidewalk, a hand firm at the small of her back to steer her quickly to his car as his head turned as though in a hinge back and forth to scan the street for possible threat. 

Before she ducked into the passenger door he held open for her she looked up at him a bit more frankly than before. “No screwing around Cas, I mean it. Makes me feel better, you watching my back tonight.” 

He nodded down at her, unsure if he felt a little better at her game smile or even more unsettled, but at least she didn't appear to be upset with him right now. He wouldn't have been surprised considering how dinner had ended.

He felt an urge to at least try to be equally civil.

"Alright. Thank you. And you...you look nice." 

Fuck, why'd he have to say that? That wasn't civil that was...who the hell knows? It's not like she needed to hear that, she knew exactly how she looked. He ducked behind the wheel quickly to forestall any further opportunities for his mouth to get ahead of his brains again. 

Cas drove calmly, taking his time at each light and turn, quite a reversal from the rowdy and chaotic escape from the club just the evening before, all squealing tires and adrenaline and accusations. This was better, this was workable, this was work. She could do her thing and he could do his and get this resolved sooner rather than later. He felt reasonably confident that despite Alastair, she'd be alright this evening as long as they both simply did their what they did best and didn't let the two overlap. 

Flicking his eyes over to Meg in the passenger seat he saw the collar around her neck, a simple but effective line of salt pressed between two strips of black leather and embossed with a mixture of Tibetan, Summarian, and Enochian sigils of shielding. The simple iron band sitting securely on her middle finger. It was unlikely Alastair would be able to touch her, but Castiel wasn't about to rest on “unlikely.” When one relaxed their vigilance, got complacent, that's when things went south, so it was generally best for Castiel to maintain a relatively high level of situation paranoia at all times. Even if the spirit couldn't do anything, Castiel couldn't let it continue to follow her, biding its time until he wasn't around and Meg slipped, removed her protections for one reason or another, and became easy prey.

His fingers tightened on the wheel as he mused in an abstract way about how he'd like to really interrogate Crowley, without concern or care for the law or justice or liability. Something that would leave the man with more scars than Castiel had, certainly. The slimy fuck deserved it.

Meg noticed his knuckles paling as he gripped the steering wheel. She glanced at Cas’ face, he didn't look completely focused on the road but still depressingly somber. "Something on your mind?"

There were a lot of things on his mind, best to stick to the least disturbing of them, however relative that might be at the moment. "Just...complicated case. Crowley's hard to get to and he's devious, well protected." He looked over at her a moment before back to the street before them. "Lot to think about. He'll be stopped though, don't worry about that."

He meant that. Crowley had been skating by for years on legal technicalities and, when confronted with forces that didn't operate strictly inside the law, like the Winchester agency, he was good at going under ground and leaving his minions to do his dirty work. "I'll take care of it.

She nodded, mouth pursed in a moue as she mulled over his words. If Cas really was a good as he said, as his Agency seemed to think, and he still looked this stone cold serious and grim about her case, well, Meg knew she was probably a lot further up shit creek than she’d suspected. “Thanks, Cas,” she said a bit quietly, looking down and picking at one of her nails contemplatively as she plucked up the nerve to shoot straight from the hip.

“I know I probably don’t act like it, but I appreciate what you’re doing, Cas.” The look she gave him might have passed for sincere, if she knew what a sincere look on her face was supposed to feel like. She was wading in uncharted waters. The “sorry for deliberately blue-balling you” expression felt more familiar, so she pasted that one on for a minute before she looked away, hoping it was good enough.

A tenuous accord reached between the two of them, at least for now, they spent the rest of the drive in silence. He escorted her across the parking lot briskly, his hand once again planted on her back, as they walked under the lit marquee to the club. Castiel didn’t break stride as he traded level looks with the bouncer at the front door; he wasn't the one he'd kneecapped but the look on the guy's face when his beady eyes flicked between Meg and Castiel told him he knew the investigator was the troublemaker from last night.

With a practiced hand that had greased many palms over the years to help a job run more smoothly, he slipped a bill to the bouncer with a gravely "No problems tonight” as he followed Meg in.

"I'll be over there," he inclined his head towards the bar once they reached the familiar main floor of the club, all violet lights and long legs and the scent of perfume and booze and desperation. "If you see anything just come straight to me. I'll handle it." He stepped back to sink onto a bar stool, palm pushing lightly at the base of her spine to get her moving in the direction of the back.

Meg didn’t even realize his touch had been setting her at ease until it was gone, and she was abruptly jittery again. She nodded over her shoulder at Cas, reassured herself he was where he said he’d be and made a beeline for the dressing rooms to shove her purse in her locker and rifle through the couple of extra outfits she had hanging inside. Grinning, she yanked down ont and exchanged her coat for it. She twirled her long hair up into a messy coil at the back of her head before slipping the head piece on then slithered into the rest of it. 

Yeah, she’d do her job. Cas would do his. She wouldn’t drag him in the back or plop her feet in his lap tonight. But the least she could do was give him something to look at while he played surly security. Totally humanitarian gesture.

_I’m such a giver._

Castiel nodded to Ash, he'd finally bothered to learn the bartender's name, ordered a double of Maker's Mark, and made it a point to slide a generous tip over to the man. If his night shifts, on or off the clock, were going to be spent here it was a good idea to start working himself into the good graces of the employees, especially after the damage he did last night. Maybe the owner would lighten up on Meg's debt if Castiel behaved himself.

Sipping his drink he idly watched Jo walk by, brushing her off with a shake of his head when she started to veer in his direction, and turned his barstool away from most of the action to fire off a text to Hester to set up a meeting for the following morning. Time to get the other heavy guns involved and that required a face-to-face at the office. He’d just sent off a confirmation to Hester’s request for a 10am when the club lights took a dive into near total darkness. Looking around he didn't see anything out of the ordinary, or much of anything at all, but the hair on the back of his neck hadn’t raised, and he trusted his instincts and decided nothing about it seemed particularly otherworldly. It was just dramatic effect for whichever entertainer was going to take the stage next. He craned his neck, peering in the dimness to see if he could spot Meg, a flash of pale skin or maybe hear her throaty laugh.

When a small spotlight flashed in the darkness to highlight someone on the stag Cas almost dropped his drink in his lap. "Holy..." he breathed without any irony at all when his eyes landed on Meg, with a demure expression and posture that was in direct opposition to the calculated way she was driving any man nearby to thoughts of utter sin.

Without thinking he crossed himself unironically.

As the music started Meg tipped up her countenance up, her pale face rising like a winter moon with her hands clasped under her chin as though in prayer. When the downbeat started her closed eyes slid open and the previously beatific half smile slid into her familiar, deadly smirk as she measured each step towards the pole on the stage. Each stride was slow and deliberate, each strike of her heel pointed and sure. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed her.

**Don't be aroused by my confession**  
 **Unless you don't give a good goddamn about redemption**

Half the men in the club practically moaned along with the singer as Meg hooked one leg around the metal and swung, both feet leaving the floor as she slipped around it around twice with fluid ease. When she came to a stop she faced the crowd and sank to her knees. Definitely not in supplication, not with how wide they were spread, with how her hands went above her head to grip the pole behind her. She threw her back into a hard arch that seemed to push forward, offer up, everything a man would renounce a god for. 

**I know Christ is comin' and so am I**  
 **You would too if this sexy devil caught your eye**

Her shoulders pressed back hard against the pole as Meg tightened her hands and moved with explosive force, graceful and impressive, as she curling up and back until she hung upside down, held up only by the hard clench of her thighs on cool metal. Then she spun again.

**She'll suck you dry and still you'll cry**  
 **To be back in her bosom to do it again**

Castiel quickly put his drink down before he dropped it and his eyes fixed on the stage like a laser. He'd watched dancers plenty of times. He'd seen Meg perform, on stage, on customers, even on him, but this was something else entirely. He didn't know if she had a selection of routines designed to show off her almost scary flexibility and core strength, this was a special night, or she was a genius at improvisation. Whatever it was, Meg was in rare form, all twists and bends and coiled strength as she wove around the pole, legs and arms cradling it with a gentleness that belied her strength, as she shimmied up then down.

He choked on the liquor sitting forgotten in his mouth when she performed a damn stunning display of upper body strength as she let go of the pole to perform a handstand, before sinking into a split. He was amazed she didn’t bust every seam in her tight black dress. 

**She'll eat you alive. Jesus is risen, it's no surprise**  
 **Even he would martyr his mama to ride to hell between those thighs**

She was wearing a damn nun get-up. 

Castiel shifted in his seat and tried to will his thoughts away from how unspeakably wrong that was. And hot. Mostly wrong, he weakly tried to convince himself. She was just doing her job, like he said she should. She would work, he would work, and this was workable if they just stuck to that. 

Unfortunately, she did her job extremely, almost painfully, well.

**The pressure is building at the base of my spine**  
 **If I gotta sin to see her again then I'm gonna lie, lie, lie**

Pale hands flitted over her body, as though she didn’t know where they would land, and neither did the audience watching. After framing her face momentarily with scarlet nails, her fingers landed on her neck and the zip lowered another inch each time her hips swung, revealing slivers of creamy skin that glowed luminous against the black of her dress.

He hurriedly flicked a hand at Ash for another drink.

**She'll make you cry I'll sell my soul**  
 **To be back in her bosom, gladly**  
 **Now please suck me dry and still you'll cry**  
 **To be back in her bosom to do it again**

A surge of something he absolutely did not examine too closely swelled in Castiel as he saw the collar he'd made snugged against her throat. The lyrics to the song were pretty raunchy to begin with but coupled with Meg slowly stripping off that nun's habit, like peeling a succulent fruit, it was downright pornographic. He took a hurried swallow of his drink but was unable to savor the burn down his throat as Meg wrapped her hands around the pole and swung again, skirt hiking up to her hips.

When she turned her back to the crowd, one finger tugged at his tie to loosen it, and he cleared his throat as that perfect ass swayed to the slow, grinding beat. His eyes burned and he realized he might very well have stopped blinking since Meg took the stage. He didn’t start now, not when Meg began to inch down her dress, revealing the shift and arch of her shoulder blades which were bisected by strips of black leather. He licked his lips. Shit, leather straps. Looked like "Sister" Meg had a dirty secret under her nun's habit.

Christ, he loved leather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is "Rev 22-20" by Puscifer.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel blinked rapidly when Meg dropped the dress and kicked it away with a flick of her foot. He heard his jaw audibly click when he swallowed. It was...profane and sublime, damned thin slips of leather hugging every curve, hiding just enough to make the tease of what little wasn't revealed almost unbearable.

The men around the stage yelled and hooted as they threw money at her feet and waved larger bills to try to lure Meg closer. Castiel, at least, hadn’t yet stooped to embarrassing himself like that.

She, however, seemed content to stay out of reach. Everything about her screamed that she was too damn good to approach the rabble when she could wrap herself around the pole again like a lover. Strong thighs flexed as she climbed and arched back, her body artfully outlined in ebony stripes. When she sank to the floor again in a split with her back to the audience, the black of the habit streaming down her back like a dark banner and ending just above her perfect ass, Castiel's hand twitched and he nearly knocked his forgotten drink over.

She was sin and salvation and temptation and, fuck, he was so tempted. Castiel ripped his eyes off the stage and fired off a completely unnecessary second meeting confirmation to Hester; the sooner this case closed the sooner he could...hell, he didn't know. Only it wouldn't involve him just sitting here and reminding himself Meg was hands off, as hard as he was... _that_ was… **THAT** was.

Damnit.

If she danced like that more often he suspected she wouldn't have to work long before she was extremely well off, even discounting what she stole from Crowley. If he wasn't working, if he hadn’t even been assigned Meg’s case, Cas might have emptied his own wallet on the stage by this point.

Meg, in the meantime, started prowling the edge of the stage, sometimes dipping to her knees to pick up scattered money, other times reaching down to crisply slap the back of a hand that ventured too close then wagging her finger in a parody of the severe Catholic school teacher that garnered a few laughs from the spectators along with a few extra bucks. Meg’s expression shifted from sly to pleased and back again as she continued her routine, eyes sometimes sliding to the back of the crowd to skate over her investigator. 

Of course, he was staring at her. It amused her to no end, the look on his face, something between frustrated and stupefied.

She was doing her job; Castiel couldn't fault her for that. But her intentions were not holy nor entirely honest, for that matter. She knew she affected him, but he wasn’t supposed to invade her thoughts. 

Not the way he’d started to. 

She didn’t want him, she didn’t need him…ok she needed him to handle this Alastair problem, but that was it. He was supposed to be as disposable to her as every other man here, anonymous, easy to lump together with all the other guys who only looked at her surface. Instead he just had to go digging, gotten under her skin.

The fact that she sort of liked it, and her eyes kept landing on the back of the club where he sat, was a problem.

He wiped the back of his hand hastily over his mouth and took another large sip, draining the glass, eyes glued to the stage. Meg practically stalked it, slithering to the music like it was second nature to twist her hips, slide her hands over her curves just that way. The contrast of the nun's habit draped around her heart shaped face, framing it with feigned innocence, while from the neck down everything about her screamed ultimate sin, was killing him.

He should be continually scanning the club, watching for any flicker of phantasmagoria, not licking his lips at the idea that maybe sometime, when this rotten job was said and done, he could convince Meg to wear that strappy number in one of the private rooms and dance for him there.

Or at his place.

He could practically picture her walking down his steps in those killer boots again, seductively wrapped up in leather and...he really needed to stop that train of thought _right now_.

Meg was the client. Meg was in trouble. Meg was not just some anonymous entertainer whom he threw some money at so he could drool over her like every other patron. Meg could cook, she was funny in a sharp and edged way, and she slept on her side with a pillow crammed against her stomach.

He shoved up from his chair, turned his back on the stage, and kept his eyes on the bar. He didn’t allow them to flick to the mirror above it.

More than two or three times.

**Pray 'til I go blind  
 **Cause nobody ever survives  
 **Prayin' to stay in her arms  
 **Just until I can die a little longer  
 **Saviors and saints  
 **Devils and heathens alike  
 **She'll eat you alive**************

Meg dipped her head low as though to end the song in a mockery of prayer, and turned a neat cartwheel that ended in another split just as the lights went dark. The men whistled and catcalled. She skipped off the stage, her hands full of wrinkled, damp dollars and her discarded dress as she nudged one of the bouncers to go sweep up the rest of her earnings while she took a little break.

She tossed her dress into her locker and flopped into a chair as she kicked her feet up on a counter some of the girls used while applying their makeup. “Ugh, these fucking shoes!" she groused. Now she remembered why she only wore these boots with this outfit and neither were trotted out often. The thigh highs looked amazing but practically hobbled her after a few dances. And she knew the rest of her was going to be crisscrossed with pressure marks for hours after she changed at home. Well, Cas’ home. She almost cursed herself for picking this outfit tonight, but the look on Cas' face when he saw her was worth it. Poor guy looked ready to have a stroke. Hopefully, the fun kind.

She stretched until her something in her back gave with a much needed, small pop that made her sigh, and she tugged the headpiece off to run her fingers through her slightly sweaty hair. 

“Ugh, habit head, lovely.” She turned to inspect herself in a mirror on the adjacent wall and tousled her dark locks a bit more before pushing up from the chair with a quiet groan.

Now that she’d had her fun with Cas and the nun getup, she needed to get down to the serious business of methodically shaking down as many men as she could tonight for their paychecks. She had to pay off the damages from all those spilled drinks last night and whatever other damages her boss decided she was on the hook for. She was still determined not to pay for the bouncers’ doctor’s bills. If that meant she had to sashay back and forth in front of Cas two dozen times tonight in these torturous heels to convince him to eat that expense, that’s what she’d do. And she couldn’t even snag a drink from Ash to make it through the night, no more freebies until she was square on her tab. She was in hell.

Meg indulged in a pout at her reflection before she pasted on her signature smirk and headed back out to the main floor, exaggerating the sway of her walk as she crossed the room. Her eyes flitted back and forth over the crowed, sussing out the patrons for the evening and her mind noting which ones’ heads turned as she crossed the room. Those would be the first she’d hit for a lap dance, but first to check in with her protection detail.

She sidled up to Cas by the bar and asked innocently, "How's work?"

Castiel had been immersed in his phone, desperate for distraction, and started at her voice then looked up from the device. His eyes widened when they landed on Meg.

Christ, the outfit was even worse, or better, from less than 2 feet away. "Er...I've a...meeting at 10am with another investigator about your case." He doggedly dragged his eyes up to Meg’s face and kept them there as he spoke, one finger wagging in the direction of the stage behind her. "That was...quite a display of athleticism…you’re really strong," he finished lamely. Well, it was better than the other comments that had raced through his head earlier. But seriously, did she study dance for years at some art school or work out obsessively? She’d been damned impressive, in addition to frustratingly hot.

Meg stared at him a few seconds then chuckled, a practiced low noise that almost never failed to turn a man’s head around. “You’re such a nerd, Cas. Only you’d watch something like that and notice how much core strength it takes.” Ok, so maybe he hadn’t been as flustered by her performance as she’d hoped, but it was nice someone noted how hard it was to pull off a routine like that. “Couple years of gymnastics as a kid, kept up some of it even after I dropped out of high school. It shows, huh?” Cas nodded so quickly it almost gave Meg a crick in her own neck and her smile widened. “Thanks, Cas. Glad someone noticed I can actually dance and not just fling my underwear around.”

He flushed slightly and absent mindedly took a sip of…his now empty glass. He cleared his throat, quickly put it down on the bar, and spun it a few times in his fingers. Not the most elegant stalling gesture but he needed a moment to unstick his tongue.

"It was very..." Ridiculously erotic? Put all sorts of totally unprofessional thoughts in his head? Completely profane? "...engaging."

He slid his eyes from her face to the stage to not at all focus on cowgirl Ruby, who was swinging a lasso over her head before letting it sail out to rope a passing customer, garnering laughter from her audience. 

"But a nun? Really, Meg?” he queried with a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth.

He was such a hypocrite; he used artifacts from holy orders all the time in his line of work and always for something other than their original purposes. To be honest, the juxtaposition between sinner and saint, the divine and the unholy, that sweet face and the sinful moves had jolted his libido in a way that made him feel indescribably guilty.

"Don't you think that's a little sacrilegious?" Sure, make it sound like it’s her fault Castiel was a gigantic pervert.

“Oh, totally. That’s why I do it,” Meg agreed glibly, not looking for a fraction of a second at all repentant, as she flicked her hair over her shoulder.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. A short, rough rasp that took both of them by surprise. Meg looked incredulous, as though she’d thought he wasn’t capable of making such a sound, then delighted. 

“Well, looks like I’ve done my good deed for the day. Now to do some bad ones.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the crowd. “Back to business. How do I look?” It was an automatic inquiry; she always enjoyed compliments, and Cas was generally pretty good about giving her a few as long as he wasn’t grouchy. 

"Fine…just…" he reached out without thinking and pulled a lock of dark hair forward to drape over right shoulder, his finger curling around it a moment before he let it go. "There."

Castiel’s eyes dropped to his hand as it returned to his side and wondered when it moved without his conscious direction. It had been an impulse; he didn’t really have impulses. Well, not until recently. 

Since when did he start having these odd moments of easy familiarity with Meg? This wasn't like him at all; of course, having this sort of semi-innocuous conversation with a half naked woman standing front of him wasn’t like him either. Until recently, he'd have been sitting there, hands to himself, quietly appreciative that there were generous women in the world who allowed socially stunted idiots like him to give them money for a few minutes of attention.

Meg watched his face as he carefully touched her hair. It was pretty unusual for guys to be gentle with her; they generally just wanted to play grab-ass. Castiel's face was calmly analytical, not calculating like most men’s when they were this close to her. And he wasn't scowling. That was nice. It took her a second before she realized he was done, and she stepped back a pace.

"Thanks, I don't have a mirror or I'd do it myself, but I trust your taste in hair. It’s the only part of your look that works." Her fingers rose to flick one of his tousled spikes in retaliation.

Castiel felt his face starting to heat up; he really didn’t need Meg to see that and tease him mercilessly, so he ducked his head and muttered, “I need another drink, no, bathroom. Excuse me. Back in a minute." He turned practically sideways to scoot around her as though anymore passing physical contact was to be avoided at all costs, and headed for the restrooms. 

He looked over his shoulder once or twice on the way, just assuring himself he knew where Meg was. Security stuff, of course. The view of Meg from the back, her pretty little ass perfectly framed with tiny scraps of black leather had zero to do with it.

He was such a liar.

"Riiiiiiiiight,” Meg murmured to herself as she watched her protector practically scurry away from her the second she crossed whatever arbitrary line Cas had drawn around himself this evening.

_Oh well, least he didn’t look mad. The guy doesn’t need the extra frown lines._

Her small respite from work over, Meg turned in a circle to eye the room, scoping out her next customer. She made a speedy $30 off a single song and an easy to please college boy, another quick score from nervous Garth, and was swanning her way in the direction of one of the smaller stages for a few turns around a pole when she heard a familiar whistle.

Her usually business-like smirk slipped instantly into a dazzling smile as she turned on one pointed heel. "Benny! It's been, what, a week? Two? I thought you'd forgotten about me," she pouted and immediately moved to perch on his knee, chin propped on her fist. “Almost hurt my feelings, sailor.”

"Aww, don’ be like that, kitten,” the burly, bearded man soothed in his always pleasant Southern drawl as he patted her knee. “You know I don’ always make it to port regular. I been busy.“

Meg jiggled her knee under his large hand. “Maybe I’m busy too,” she teased and feigned getting up, which Benny immediately stopped with a peace offering of a couple twenties he slid under one of the thin straps of her skimpy outfit. “Welllllllll, not that busy,” Meg amended with a wink. A few more minutes of back and forth genial banter then Meg slipped off Benny’s lap and crooked her finger over her shoulder as she headed in the direction of the VIP rooms.

“Hey,” Meg poked one of the bouncers guarding the curtain that portioned off the private section from the main floor, “My friend in the flasher coat comes by let him know I’m working back here, ‘k? Don’t want him to get worked up like last night, right?” She patted the guy gently on his shoulder, mindful of the sling his left arm was wrapped in. The look of pure aggravation on his face to play messenger to the guy who dislocated his elbow put an extra bounce in Meg’s step as she lead Benny behind closed doors.

After splashing a bit of water on his face and girding himself to better deal with the rest of evening, Castiel stepped back into the club and immediately scanned the floor.

Where was she?

He made a circuit of the room then another, peering into dark corners and once interrupting a rather vigorous performance by Jo on some guy who actually seemed to enjoy her rough treatment. Meg was apparently spot on when she said some guys liked being bounced on like a trampoline.

He made one last turn of the room before his eyes fell on the entry to the VIP section and he approached it, only to have his way barred by a beefy bouncer. He flicked his eyes up at the guy, tempted but not deeply, to shove his way past to check. Noting the sling, Castiel determined taking this guy down two nights in a row would be very bad for Meg. He decided diplomacy was the better part of valor and simply stared the man down, unblinking in that way he’d perfected over the years, until he received confirmation Meg was in back with a customer.

He frowned as he sank into a leather chair facing the curtain and laced his fingers together, prepared to wait. She was working, so was he, and he knew how well private performances paid from personal experience. If she was going to settle her bill with the agency she'd keep doing this. And he’d have the entirely unenviable job of sitting there and waiting for her to finish while his mind stubbornly kept wondering what exactly she was up to in there, no matter how many times Castiel tried to keep his imagination in check.

It was an annoying situation to find himself in; he couldn't actually keep an eye on her if she was behind a closed and locked door with someone else. He only hoped she wasn't gone too long. Too long meant a lot of things he'd prefer not to think about. He silently chided himself for being a complete hypocrite, considering how much he himself had enjoyed Meg's up close and personal attention in the dim privacy of the private rooms.

Benny’s big calloused hands roamed nearly every inch of skin exposed by Meg’s strappy outfit, as he teased her about never seeing this particular get up before, while Meg swayed and squirmed in his arms making appreciative little moans for him. The sort of quiet breathless one’s she’d learned were a favorite of the sailor’s, but her mind wasn’t entirely on the task. 

She wondered if Cas was back at the bar, slowly nursing another drink. If he’d looked for her when he came back from the restroom. If his face clouded over with annoyance when he learned she was back here. If he fretted that she wasn’t in his line of sight. If he had his nose once again practically stuck to the screen of his phone as he pecked out another email to his job. If another girl was distracting him. 

Benny noticed something subtly lacking in her performance and stilled his hands, resting them on her hips. “Hey, kitten, somethin’ on your mind tonight?

It took Meg a few seconds to realize Benny wasn’t feeling her up anymore; that alone let her know how off her game she must be right now. "Hm? Yeah, I'm good.” She slung her arms around his neck and gave a determined little wiggle on his lap to make up for half-assing it a moment ago.

Only Benny would've noticed that she was really acting instead of participating; he was a good guy that way, the other men she entertained in private didn’t notice or care about her acts because they were too focused on getting off and she was just a handy tool, a pretty means to a simple end.

One of Benny’s meaty hands landed surprisingly gently on her shoulder and he spoke with an almost paternalistic concern. "Now, kitten, you know I see right through you. C’mon, talk to ol’ Benny.”

Meg let her brittle plastic smile drop at his words, and she sighed, “Sorry, B…I’m just not feeling it tonight. Guess you could tell.” She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing in annoyance at herself for being so obvious. She was usually better than this.

Benny gave her an understanding nod. He really was a big old teddy bear, not like the sleezeballs in the slightest; he actually treated Meg like a buddy. One he could help out financially, if she returned the favor physically when it suited both of their needs. They’d had a friendly mutual understanding of each other for a while now. 

"Lay it on me, kitten.”

Meg blew a strand of hair out of her eye and shrugged. "It's been a hell of a week, kinda literally…and these damn shoes hurt and I’m just tir-“

"Don' you dare say tired. We both know you got more energy than that ol’ pink bunny on the TV.“ Benny wagged a meaty finger at her nose until her eyes crossed and they both chuckled quietly. “Somethin’s eatin’ at you, so spill.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” She pushed his finger away from her face. "Some crap from my past popped up and there’s...this guy trying to help me handle it.” Benny’s eyebrow darted up his forehead so quickly it was comical. “Shut up!” Meg stuck a threatening finger of her own his face.

“I said nothin’, kitten.” His face split in a cheery grin, white teeth flashing in the dim light of the room. “Guy problems, yeah? ‘Bout time someone got under your pretty skin, darlin’.”

Meg squinted at him and flicked the end of his nose sharply with one painted nail. “Hey, I’m being serious and it’s not just the guy. B, I got a serious probl-“

She practically choked on the last word when something flickered in her peripheral vision and the hair on her arms suddenly rose in a way that was impossible to ignore. “Benny!” Meg barked as she practically tumbled off his lap and backed herself against the nearest wall. “Get the hell outta here!”

Benny’s expression was bewildered as she slowly stood up, no idea why Meg had spooked so suddenly. They were just talking. “Hey, hey, kitten, I’m not doin’ anythin’. You okay?”

“Hellllo…Meggg.” The oily, sibilant voice made her shudder. “Thought you coullld….avoid mmme?”

Benny’s head whipped around at the sound of another person in the room, face morphing into a mean scowl. “Who…what the hell is that?!” he growled when his eyes landed on the grey figure, and he automatically inserted himself between the whatever it was and Meg.

Meg stared wide eyed past Benny's shoulder at the figure, her hands casting wildly along the wall to find a panic button or doorknob or anything. "My past!"

"What??” Benny barked incredulously just as Alastair rushed forward in a gust of icy air and passed through him, insubstantial as smoke. The longshoreman fell to the floor with a heavy thump like a marionette when its strings were suddenly cut.

Meg opened her mouth to scream but choked on the noise when the specter darted at her. Alastair was right there. In her face. An unearthly chill washed over her and Meg swore something inside her froze solid. Maybe it was her heart because it nearly stopped beating when spectral gray hands reached for her face.

Then stopped.

Her eyes widened at the look of pure fury on Alastair’s visage when it tried again to grab her and something kept its touch from her skin. The thing hovered only inches from her, unable to close the final gap, and Meg pressed herself as flat as possible against the wall, hardly daring to breathe.

Alastair’s hand flattened in mid-air, as though learning the shape of the barrier between them. “Ohhh…Meggg…thinnk you’re….a cleverrr one…” Shriveled lips pulled back from rotted teeth in a ghastly smile, and Meg barely stifled a gag of revulsion. “Cannn’t ssstop me …foreverrr, biiiitch.”

Meg’s spine went rigid in reflex and eyes narrowed dangerously as the fingers of her right hand curled into a tight ball, the iron encircling her middle finger digging into her skin. “No one calls me a bitch!” Her fist shot up from her hip like a bolt and slammed a speedy uppercut right through the thing’s creepy jaw.

Meg sucked in a quick breath when Alastair vanished and dropped to a crouch, her fingers skirting under Benny’s jaw to feel for a pulse, any sign he wasn’t stone dead. She nearly shouted when she felt the reassuring thud of his heart under her fingertip,s and her dark head dipped down to rest on his chest a second in gratitude. 

“Oh fuck, Benny, I’m so sorry.” 

She allowed herself only a second to feel a smidge of relief before she clambered to her feet again and darted for the door.

_Cas! Gotta find Cas right the hell now!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed last week's update because of snooooow. I live the Southern US and it's such a rarity it turned my head entirely around, especially since we didn't just get a little sprinkle but a proper dumping down that paralyzed my city and I had actually snow days from work!
> 
> Back on track now!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this story during the 6 month break. It's mostly due to Gambitgirl getting pretty sick and going in and out of the hospital but she's fine now and she and Em are back to work on this story!
> 
> Also check this out, Momfert on tumblr did [fanart](http://momfert.tumblr.com/post/97815350711/meg-because-hello-strangers-new-chapter-makes) for this chapter the day after it was posted!

Castiel passed the time waiting for Meg to finish up whatever she was doing in the VIP room by studiously not thinking about whatever she was doing in the VIP room. Instead he let his eyes roam back and forth from the heavy velvet curtain that closed off that section and the crabby bouncer watching him with a clearly grudging expression. 

He slowly sipped a beer brought to him by one of the waitresses and dwelled on the matter of Alastair's master, Crowley. Attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, extortion, sexual assault and possible battery, the list of the man's misdeeds was long just in relation to this case. Of course, whether or not any of it would result in Crowley seeing the inside of a courtroom was another matter. The problem being what he could prove versus what he could prove legally.

The law simply hadn't evolve quickly enough to handle all the permutations of supernatural related criminal activity, so places like the Winchester Agency existed, men like Castiel were needed. They filled in the cracks where things tended to fall through. Filled in the graves too.

He wasn't in the business of doling out justice or even punishment. He helped people, hunted the things that went bump in the night. So people could sleep, try to enjoy a normal life. It was bad enough the wisps of those long dead were awakened by new and careless occupants of old houses. They were also the self-absorbed capitalists who disrupted the natural order by razing pristine forests and riling up previous gentle spirits to violence. Don’t forget the nosy explorers tread into dark areas of the world that gave every indication humans should just stay away and disturbed creatures best left to myth and legend.

Shit happened, he could live with that, it was life...and whatever came after that. But when people like Crowley started dicking about with the arcane, twisting it to their purpose, brandishing it like a weapon to gain and keep power over others who had no way to protect themselves.

Well, Castiel wasn't above a bit of retribution.

His hand clenched into a fist on his knee at the thought and he noted the bouncer a few feet from him tensed up. He didn’t blame the guy for being on edge; Castiel’s presence had that effect on a lot of people, even ones he hadn’t personally mauled. He made it a point to sit back in his chair and finished his drink, trying to look marginally less prone to sudden outbursts of violence. His effort was completely undone when Meg flung aside the heavy velvet curtain, her eyes dark and wide as they landed on him, her hand waving in his direction urgently.

“Cas!” she said tightly, every line in her body tightly coiled, and he knew that look: fight or flight. Something had happened.

He shot up from his chair and was by her side in a second, hand landing heavily on her shoulder. “Do we need to leave?”

Indecision warred on her face for a few fleeting moments before her expression fixed into something dogged, determined. “No, not yet. I need you,” she said firmly and grabbed his elbow, practically dragging him down the hallway with surprising force.

She shoved open one of the private rooms and Cas saw the bearded man, with whom Meg was often so friendly, laid out on the floor. Cas immediately crouched and put two fingers to his throat; the pulse was there, thready but present, the skin clammy and too chill to be natural. He held his hand over the guy’s mouth and felt shallow warm puffs against his palm.

Meg was on her knees at his side and her fingers flitted as though towards the man’s face but stopped before they touched. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Cas squinted, assessing. “Alastair?” She nodded tightly. “It passed through him?” Another quick jerk of her head. “He’s in shock, he’ll be alright. Probably. Best to discreetly inform your employer to call 911 just in case.” If the man had heart issues it might not be as insignificant as Castiel deliberately made it sound.

Meg’s breath huffed out in a whoosh. “It wouldn’t be the first time, actually. Some guy had a stroke back here last year, a little too much excitement.” She didn’t move immediately.

Cas turned his head to look at her, her face pinched and an unhealthy shade of pale. “Alastair didn’t touch you.” It wasn't a question.

Her lips pressed into a tight line. “Tried. It couldn’t lay a finger on me.” One of her hands scurried up to lay at her throat, fingers tangling in the charms that hung from her salt collar. Her eyes took on a distant look, one that said Meg didn't see what was immediately in front of her at the moment.

Castiel realized she might be in shock also, or about to go into it. He touched her wrist carefully to get her attention. “Meg, we need to go.” His voice was even, calm as his eyes did a quick circuit of the room. “It will come back. “

“Yeah, get me the fuck outta here,” she replied faintly.

He nodded pulled her to her feet before he took his coat off to hand her. As she fished her arms through the sleeves, his own hand darted into his pocket to finger the asp. He needed to get to the relative safety of his car. Calm, orderly, no ruckus. When Meg pulled his coat closed and folded her arms tight around her middle she edged to his side and Castiel's hand landed firm at the small of her back. 

One hand on the client, one eye on the door.

On their way out she muttered hurriedly to the bouncer to call 911, her eyes everywhere, but his face. “Benny keeled over. Tell the boss I’m sorry. Benny too.” She took a shuddering breath and her head dipped forward, long hair swinging down to cover her face. Cas felt the slump in her shoulders and hated it; it felt defeated.

He guided her through the club, easily navigating her unresisting form around tables, past servers and customers. He heard her suck in a deep breath as soon as they stepped outside and the throbbing music was muted by the door thumping shut behind them.

“Car's right over there, Meg,” he urged her in the same calm, steady voice as he took a half step ahead of her, effectively blocking her line of sight so she wouldn't notice the specter hovering at the edge of the asphalt only a couple yards away. He kept talking as he slid her into the passenger seat, as he rounded the car, as he sat behind the wheel. He didn't stop talking so that her attention would be on him and not somewhere else. His words unhurried, a steady slow flow of them to keep her engaged.

“Your friend will be fine, Meg. I’ve experienced nearly a dozen full body spectral passes in my career. Not pleasant, to be sure,” he relayed dryly, hoping his poor attempt at a joke would rouse a response from her. It didn’t. “But no permanent damage.” He didn’t bother to elaborate on what sorts of permanent damage a spirit as powerful as Alastair would cause; it was the last thing she needed to hear.

“Last time was 6 years ago,” he shared as he steered them on to the street, the car gathering speed but it wasn't a mad race this time, even if the speed limit remained only a suggestion. He caught a flicker of motion as he rolled through a stop sign and Meg's face turned towards him. “Haven't had to worry about it since I learned about this Choctaw pictoglyph,” he squinted as he watched a car pass them at a cross street, then he pulled out behind it and passed it on the double yellow.

“What’s it do?” Good she was talking. His eyes slid over to her, and while Meg still looked tightly wound she wasn't panicked.

“Keeps the spirits out for good.” He shrugged his right shoulder and her eyes followed the movement. “Branded on the bicep.”

“...ow. I think I'll stick with this.” One hand unwound from where it had been clamped across her middle and rested on her neck again.

He nodded, glad she was engaging even if only a little. “Yes, ow. But still preferable to a spectral pass. There's something very...ick about it that sticks with you for a while.”

“Ick. That a technical term you supernatural 'dicks' use?” Meg's tone was wry.

The corner of his mouth twitched as he swore he saw flicker of sinister grey out the passenger window. “Yes. We use it in reports and everything. Yuck is also allowed.” The speedometer edged up as he gained a long, flat straightaway.

Meg laughed quietly, a welcome sound. “You're so fucking weird, Cas.”

“I am aware,” he agreed as he took the last turn and saw his building. He let out the breath he'd tightly controlled during the entire drive. Meg's hand hovered on the door handle and it seemed like he barely parked before she was already on the sidewalk. He had to jog to catch up to her at the entry to his building, hand once again landing firm on her back to steer her in before she looked around and saw Alastair across the street.

“Sorry your friend was caught in the cross-fire this evening,” he murmured as he unlocked the door. She slipped inside quickly, her heels tapping sharp across the floor to the sofa where she immediately sat with his long coat rucked up over her legs as she started to wrestle with her boots.

“Benny’s not really a friend,” she grunted, wrestling the zipper over her knee before it got stuck. “He’s a nice guy, but more of a work acquaintance than anything.”

He nodded, unsure if a response was required from him before he crossed to his desk to grab the Maker’s Mark. Tonight could have been worse, he decided. Feeling generous he poured a glass for her too then sat on the coffee table across from her perch and offered the tumbler to her.

Meg focused wrenching her boots off, not looking at his face, until she had her legs folded back under her again, tucked beneath the folds of the trench she was reluctant to remove just yet. She flicked her eyes to his and took the drink with a quirk of her lips. He was so calm, and she was acting like a damsel in distress. She really hated that, but it wasn’t Cas’ fault. She was most certainly in a fuckton of distress and no amount of barbed wit or booty shakes could get her out of it. She hated Alastair and definitely Crowley; they both made her feel weak, powerless.

But she wasn’t dead yet, thanks to Cas and her own iron laced uppercut. That put a little fire in her belly. Nope, Alastair might be a big bad meanie but right now it couldn’t touch her and she’d handled her own business well enough before she ran for Castiel.

“Seems your lessons paid off, Cas,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb over the iron band sitting on her middle finger. “Thanking you twice in a day, am I getting mushy?”

He snorted and tipped up his own drink, and she watched the column of his neck as he took two swallows.

“Don’t worry; your secret’s covered under my standard client confidentiality agreement.” He set his glass down and rubbed a finger over his lower lip, his expression contemplative. "Believe me when I say you're handling this better than many people would. You did exactly what you were supposed to."

He kept talking, eyes staring past her shoulder. "Most people aren't at all prepared for something like this and they go into hiding, on lock down. You went to work, tried to carry on with your life as best you could, given the circumstances. I don't see that often, it's commendable.” She didn't have the luxury or the disposition to sit around on her hands while other people took care of business. He respected that, even if it was vexing sometimes.

His eyes shifted and landed on her face as his voice pitched a bit lower, softer. “Even if you now see it’s rather foolhardy. It’s dangerous for more than just you."

“Yeah,” Meg conceded, finally raising her own glass to take a hearty drink. She didn’t even grimace as the whisky burned down her throat.

Another thing Castiel admired.

“I am pretty fucking sick of being scared though,” she groused. “Pisses me off.”

"I understand. Fear is exhausting, but it also keeps you alive as long as you trust your instincts." He refilled his own glass and topped hers off without waiting to be asked. "You don't have to be scared here, at least." She shouldn't, the protection here was impeccable.

“I’m not,” Meg maintained as she leaned back against the arm of the couch, pulling his coat a bit closer around her. It was too big, bulky, not really soft, but it was secretly comforting to her, like armor. She rested the tumbler of whiskey against her cheek and fell silent for the time being. Her earlier shock that had wound her up to the point of nearly snapping was gone, leaving behind a feeling of bone deep weariness and a reluctance to turn in just yet. 

Lay in the dark for a couple of hours and relive all the fucked up stuff of the last few days? No thanks.

Her eyes slid up to find Cas...well, he wasn’t exactly plain old staring at her, more like studying her. His head was cocked to one side and brows drawn in as he looked at her. It wasn’t skeptical per se, more concerned.

She curled into herself a bit and took a steadying breath. “I’m good, Cas, pinky swear and all that. But I don’t think I’ll sleep for a while.” She tossed back the rest of her drink and blew a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes out of the way. “Sorry, you’re probably wiped.”

He shrugged. “I operate somewhere between exhausted and half-dead most days. Don’t worry about it.” He pushed up from the coffee table. "Maybe you should clean up, shower. We both should." He blinked when he realized how that sounded. "Separately," he amended. "I still need to debrief you.”

Meg’s eyebrows shot up at that wording.

“Debrief, get the details as to what exactly happened with Alastair.” His tone that time was a cross between firm with her and frustrated.

“I got it PI Guy,” she chuckled and likewise rose, her hands keeping his coat gathered around her. For the first time Meg felt a little weird at the idea of handing it back to him and sauntering for the bathroom in her scandalous work get-up. No point in making a big deal out of it, she’d just give it back later, hang up neat next to the door and all that.

When she emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and in her comfiest (i.e. least alluring) pajamas because damnit sometimes a woman wanted flannel pants and a too big t-shirt, she called down the steps for Cas to go knock his own funk off.

The reply that he was not “funky in any way” made her snort as she sat on the floor next to her emptied bag to refold the contents she’d left scattered all over the bedroom floor earlier while he grabbed his things and disappeared into the restroom. Once all her crap was put away again (she didn’t have to be a complete hog even if Cas has surrendered his bedroom) she padded downstairs in her bare feet to fold herself up again at the end of the sofa with another drink that she sipped more slowly this time.

When Cas came downstairs in a pair of dark blue sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, he took the opposite end of the sofa and picked up his own drink in a near mirror image of her position. “Feel better?” he inquired quietly.

“Yeah, better than I probably look,” she replied with a tired yet peeved expression.

“You shouldn’t worry about that, Meg. You’re more than just your appearance,” he supplied before he took a drag from the Maker’s then picked up a pen and a notebook from the corner of the coffee table.

“I have no idea if you just insulted me or not, Cas,” she huffed.

“I am an enigma to even myself.”

Okay, that made her actually laugh. What a dork.

“I need a complete rundown of exactly what happened when you saw Alastair." And they were off, client and case worker, getting down to business. He took extensive notes as she talked, sometimes interjecting to ask an additional question, or nudging her back on track when she started to again fret about Benny.

As she spoke and told her story of what happened she put the glass aside to illustrate what she relayed with her hands. She stretched out her legs at one point, tucking one up to rest her chin on it and the other extended across the couch, toes poked under the edge of the cushion on which Cas sat.

He rested his notebook on his thigh as he nodded and scribbled while she spoke, sometimes crossing things out, sometimes doing what appeared to be a doodle in a margin, but it usually was a sigil or some sort of scribbled phrase in another language that more precisely expressed whatever he thought pertained to the details she provided.

As he worked, Meg watched him. In short sleeves she saw the ruin of his arms again, the scars old and new crossing his skin. Some were thin lines, red, pink, white, scabbed over, laddering up and down the interior of each arm from wrist to elbow. Some were larger, ragged edges, as though something sharp but uneven had sunk into his skin then raked down. It took Meg a minute to realize the 3 old slashes that ran down the outside of forearm were the result of claws. There was a pucker of flesh, circular and raised, on the inside of his opposite arm. She didn’t have to be a genius to recognize a bullet wound. 

Cas idly lifted his pen to scratch at his shoulder and the sleeve shifted a bit higher.

“That it?” Meg asked quietly. “That thing you said keeps the spirits out?” 

“Uh?” Cas looked up from his notes then down at his right shoulder. “Oh, yes.” He peered at her, examining her countenance for a long minute. Meg wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he eventually dropped his gaze and one finger hooked the hem of his sleeve and tugged it a few inches higher for her examination. “I can’t work carrying pockets full of warding charms all the time so…“ His words petered off to silence and he dropped his sleeve to return his attention to his notepad.

“You get creative,” Meg supplied. Without bothering to ask for permission, she leaned forward and plucked his sleeve up again to get a closer look. When she heard brand she thought of something jagged, ugly, red and raised, something brutal. This wasn’t like that at all; it was careful, intricate clean lines, the skin raised in a precise, flowing design that folded around the curve of his bicep, the ends prevented from joining into a completed band around his arm by an inch of unmarked skin on the side. 

If Castiel held himself so still it felt one step away from rigor mortis as Meg’s index and middle fingers traced, she didn’t notice.

Her focus was on watching her fingertips trace over the raised skin, pushing his shirt up further, not aware or caring that she was invading his personal space, she was just interested in his markings. Where the flesh had been neatly excised away to make this design it had regrown several shade lighter, the negative of a tattoo.

“That’s pretty badass, Cas. Do you have others like this?” She finally glanced at his face and noted he wasn’t looking at her, but straight ahead as though there were something fascinating on the other side of the large window that faced the trees behind the building. There wasn’t.

His chin dipped down once, and she was all at once reminded of how he’d been the first time they’d met: quiet, intense, unsettled by her. She didn’t like it nearly as much as she did then, so she lifted her hand from his arm, ready to let the whole thing drop. It was obviously something Cas didn’t actually want to talk about in detail; he’d just offered up the info earlier as a way to keep her distracted, prevent a world class freak out.

Rather than look relieved she edge back out of his personal space, Cas took an audible inhale and hooked his index finger hooked in the collar of his t-shirt to tug it down and to the left. His collarbone and the black pentagram encircled by flames a few inches below it were exposed.

“What’s that one do?”

“Keeps demons out.” His voice was low, she almost missed it.

“What happens if one of them gets in?” She knew it couldn’t be good because, c’mon, demons. Cas had opened the door by showing the tattoo, she was only naturally curious.

“People die.” He didn’t really need to say more than that.

Meg couldn’t help it as, her fingers reaching out to try to touch, see if the skin was raised there also, learn if there was a new texture to his skin she didn’t know yet. “I guess all you investigator types have these then, huh?”

His hand moved from his shirt to catch her wrist. It wasn’t a quick or even a dismissive motion, meant to push her back, simply a request she stop. “We do now.”

She caught on pretty quickly. “Because someone died. Right?”

Another slow dip of his chin and his gaze hovered near her shoulder.

She didn’t know who died, how long ago, how close Cas was to them. It wasn’t her business. Wasn’t her problem. Wasn’t her life.

“...I’m sorry, Cas.” But she meant that. 

His lips parted, as though he were about to speak, then pressed shut again into a thin line that turned down at the edges. The fingers encircling Meg’s wrist dropped away to pick up his pen once more, his notes and he shifted away from her, his eyes skidding to the opposite side of the room.

“I need to type of these notes, Meg. I’ve a meeting tomorrow morning at the office about your case. You should get some rest.” Before he’d finished the last sentence he was already up and moving towards his desk.

Meg wasn’t stupid, she knew a dismissal when she heard one. She sighed she sat back, the hand that had touched his brand now twisted in the hem of her shirt. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she offered to his back and watched as his dark head duck down again in a brief nod. The discussion about his markings, brief as it was, clearly made him uncomfortable. Maybe that was her fault, maybe Cas had issues, she didn’t know. She just didn’t want him upset, with her or himself. They had enough shit to deal with Alastair and Crowley without stirring up more between just the two of them.

She shuffled forward, the hem of her too long sleep pants dragging over her toes, and she rested her hand on his forearm. “10 a.m. with Hester, I know.” 

Under the curve of her palm she felt the patchwork of his skin, his scars. He did this to himself so people don’t die. Meg suddenly felt incredibly small in comparison.

“Don’t…” she started then halted and tightened her grip on his arm until he raised his eyes to look at her. “...don’t wear yourself out on my account, Cas, okay?” 

_Seriously, don’t. I’m not worth it._


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel cautiously poked his head into his room after shaving and sighed in relief that Meg wasn’t still in bed and had finally gotten up on her own. He knew she disliked waking up this early, but they had to get to the Agency, so he’d left a mug of coffee on the nightstand as a cheap bribe before he slipped into the bathroom. He rifled through his closet contemplatively before grabbing a grey suit, not that it mattered, they were all grey or black with a couple navy ones. That was the extent of his color palette. He draped one of his ties around his neck, headed downstairs while buttoning his shirt, and peered over the railing to spy Meg sitting at the table eating cold cereal as though on auto-pilot. Oh yes, she was most definitely not a morning person.

As he passed to get his own java, he muttered, "Morning."

“Mnngh,” she replied before rubbing the heel of her hand against one eye. It was a disturbingly cute gesture that made him smile slightly. Meg swallowed the last spoonful of her cereal then polished off her drink before padding to the machine for more, bringing her bowl and mug with her, eyeing Cas along the way. He didn’t seem anywhere near as tense as he had last night, but that could just be a few hours of sleep and a shower that perked him up. She decided to just play it neutral this morning, not read anything into...well, anything.

"I got up before noon, Cas. You’re witnessing personal growth,” she remarked.

“I’m duly impressed.” He rolled back his cuffs a few times as he threw together a bowl of cornflakes for himself. He caught Meg’s eye as he started to lean against the counter to eat standing up, cleared his throat awkwardly, then parked himself at the table like a civilized person. "If you wish to come along, you’ve 30 minutes before I need to leave for the Agency. I can’t promise you won’t be bored, however." 

“Yeah, I wanna come. I wanna know what’s going on, what the plan is,” she said quietly after taking a long drink from her refilled mug. “You have a plan, right? I can’t hide out here forever.” She gestured around his kitchen with her spoon.

While keeping her here guaranteed Meg’s safety it wasn’t a long term solution. “We’ll have a plan by the end of the day. Hester is an excellent tactician.”

“Definitely sounds better than staying here. No offense, it just gets dull. Not even a tv.” She shook her head mournfully as she rinsed her bowl and mug in the sink then loaded them in the dishwasher. Her own kitchen wasn’t nearly this pristine, but she was trying to be a nicer guest than she had been previously. Cas didn’t have to let her stay here, but he did, and the least she could do was clean up after herself.

“Don’t leave without me,” she warned, pointing at him before jogging up the steps to the bedroom to find something as opposite from her work clothes as possible, but not quite as sloppy as the droopy t-shirt and pajama pants she currently sported.

As he waited, Castiel gathered up his notes and laptop to take with him. Looking around his apartment, he tried to see what Meg saw. He knew exactly where everything was, had put it there himself. He didn't feel the need to step lightly here like she did. He’d  actually told her to avoid touching stuff, as though she were a kid with sticky fingers. That hadn't been the best way to set her at ease.

This wasn’t her home, it was something closer to a rather tidy and expensive prison.

He went to the base of the stairs, fiddling with his tie, always had trouble with the damn thing. "Meg?" He called up, "If you want to stop by your place to get...anything, we could do that," he offered.

"I need more clothes please! I didn’t plan all that great when running for my life from my place,” she called back. Was it really just a couple of days ago? It felt like so much longer. “The best I can promise is PG-13 with these tops, so deal with it, Cas.” 

Great. Cas always wore suits, she wouldn’t be surprised if his whole office was full of businesswear clones and the closest she had to that was skintight jeans, a flowy blouse with a deep V that probably was not at all appropriate and a choice between her one ratty pair of sneakers or some stacked platforms she usually wore to work. One sniff of her sneakers made the decision for her. “Ugh. Fuck me, heels it is.” She trotted down the stairs, heels ticking loudly, and reached in her blouse to adjust a bra strap.

“Damnit, way too much jiggle for an office,” she mused mostly to herself.

Cas, for his part, almost dropped the end of his tie in his coffee; the low cut of her blouse wasn’t indecent per se, but it was a little bit much to handle just past 9am. It was disconcerting to realize that pretty much whatever Meg wore, whether it be sweatpants, something suggestive and frilly, or slim jeans his stomach did something akin to jumping up 12 inches into his throat.

"...Ok...I guess that'll work."

“Really Cas? Your tie?” She clicked her tongue and shooed his hands away when he raised them in reflex and began tying his tie, "How do you not know how to do this by yourself? It’s always so sloppy," she teased, glancing at his face.

He really didn't have an answer for that, especially not when she was right up in his personal space again, her hands moving over his chest in a really familiar way, setting him to rights the way she'd often done before. Only then she'd completely unraveled him first.

"...maybe I like letting you do it." He grimaced when he realized he forgot to reinstall his brain to mouth filter when he got up this morning. “...Er...I mean...is that a half Windsor knot?" Wow,  tie talk. He'd hit a new conversational low. Impressive.

“Yup,” she popped her lips on the word, tugging it tight. “Gotta smarten you up before the big meeting.” She stepped back and saluted him saucily; he couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped out of him.

"Thanks, Meg." He set about filling his pockets with the usual protections and the more innocuous keys and wallet before nodding his head towards the door.

She wore the iron ring and the collar with her charms on it, but she still waited for Castiel before opening the door, a little nervous leaving the house this time.

He stuck close to her side, one hand as always on her, steering her, boxing the world out from her a bit. It was important to let her know he was right there because leaving the shelter of his place was a bit of a tense experience even for him. His fingers brushed the tips of her hair as he spoke lowly, walking in step with her towards the exit to the building.

"Daytime manifestations are very rare, but it's always best to keep alert," he said, "Just keep walking, the car's right out front. It'll be fine. The Agency offices are warded as well as my own place."

She took a breath in through her nose and nodded. His finger tips on her back were more comforting than he probably knew, and it helped her relax that he knew she was tense.

"Where is your office?"

"Near the old power plant on the north side. The building’s a little unconventional but the Winchester's have their reasons." He saw nothing amiss on the street and that was a comfort, albeit a small one. A good investigator never lets his guard down.

On the way  Meg turned in her seat to regard him. “Unconventional. Isn’t that just another word for daily business for guys like you, Cas? I mean this is...all pretty weird to the regular average Joe, y’know.”

He nodded. “Yes. I understand all of this can be unnerving for most other people. Trust me, you do actually get used to it.” He rolled through another stop sign, checking both ways before steering them towards the north side. “You’re doing better than a lot of other people would. You’re more angry than scared, that’s a good thing. Keeps you motivated.”

She fiddled with the charms strung from her neck, smile a bit wan as she watched the passing scenery. “I guess,” she sighed. “But you’re kind of a badass with this spooky crap. Bet you never almost peed your pants because of a ghost.” Ok, she did NOT actually pee her pants, but you try having this shit jump out at you and retain full bladder control.

He snorted, an inelegant noise, but one that summed up his own opinion of himself, "Hardly. You could call this the family business. I was aware of these things from a very young age, but believe me when I say no pre-teen acquits himself very well the first time he encounters an actual monster. I may have…screamed. In a rather high pitched manner." He said it completely seriously, but the corner of his mouth hitched up a couple of notches.

In hindsight it was sort of funny, and he'd certainly snickered whenever a junior investigator had their first major on-the-job scare. A corpse one newbie had naively assumed was dead reanimated while he was leaning over the autopsy table. Inias had flinched back so violently he knocked over a tray of autopsy tools and the assistant medical examiner.

“You actually screamed? Like a little girl?” she chuckled, crossing her legs and feeling a bit more at ease. “Can your voice even do that?” 

“I'll have you know," he deepened his already gravelly voice, "it was a very manly scream."

“Liar.” She reached over and jabbed his side in accusation.

He grabbed her wrist deftly and held her hand away; he was driving, after all. "That doesn't mean it still wasn't the most masculine high pitched shriek ever. It was." He nodded, everything about him somber except the amused glint in his eye.

She struggled a bit, "I didn’t think you could show that much emotion." She tugged in attempt to get her wrist free. “Ngh! Thought you were a agh robot mmmf when we first met.” Her tugging proved futile. He kept her wrist in a secure grip, one not many people would be able to get out short of actively fighting like hell, and her hand out of poking range.

"Just because I only show three emotions doesn't mean I don't have more.” He squinted at the morning sun dazzled the road. “I have it on good authority I might actually possess as many as 7 feelings." All of this was delivered in a complete deadpan.

She laughed again and stopped struggling, "Seven? Woah, you could be Keanu Reeves at this rate," she heckled then gave up trying to extract her wrist. It was pretty clear she wasn’t getting out of it to continue jabbing his side.

"I don't understand that reference," he said mildly as he turned onto the highway and followed it along the river.

"Really? Would it kill you to watch a movie? Point Break? Bill and Ted? The Matrix?” He shook his head at the unfamiliar titles. “You’re fucking hopeless,” Meg announced and shook her head in shame at his complete lack of pop culture acumen. “I’m gonna have to fix that once this mess is done.”

Castiel was pretty sure that once Alastair was gone he and Meg would not be watching movies. He couldn't picture her inviting him into her house just to hang out, well he could, but he was an idiot and he shouldn't because that way lead disappointment.

He cleared his throat and dropped her wrist. "I'm...not much of a movie person," he demurred. "Reader, mostly. Obviously. Because all the books. In my house." Wow, he certainly sounded literate.

Meg slunk back against her seat, feeling foolish for even entertaining the idea of educating Cas on how the first Matrix was awesome and the follow-ups stupendously shitty. How much more obvious could it get that he didn’t plan on sticking around once this job was over? She just couldn't take a hint.

"Yeah, I should probably read more myself. Something besides gossip magazines,”  she muttered. Right, she’d just get right on that. Her house was just overflowing with high caliber stuff like US Weekly and People magazine because it was toooooootally important to impress men at the club with your big brain.

"Well, not every book in my house is work related,” he amended. “One case has some things for leisure: McCarthy, Hemingway, Hesse...Meyers..." Well, he thought it was only proper to check out how vampires were portrayed in fiction, the last one was completely laughable. Sparkles.

She quirked a brow, "Meyers? Twilight Stephenie Meyers?" He nodded and the noise she made was something between a raspberry and a cackle. ”I am so judging you for that.”

"I'm relieved to know I wasn't the only person to find it completely ridiculous," he nodded in satisfaction. He'd learned a long time ago that his own opinions about the supernatural realm didn't really conform to those of the general populace. For all he knew people thought the books were great, especially since they sold so well. 

"Someone might wish to warn the author that the vampire population may take her portrayal as a personal insult and go looking for her." He tilted his head as he considered the idea. “Or deliberately adopt the persona of an overly groomed and teen angst ridden immortal with sparkles to find more victims.”

Meg’s laughter cut off at that. "Wait a fucking second...vampires are real too? Nevermind!” She flung up a hand. “Nope, don’t wanna know, especially not if there are any within 3 states of here.”

He didn't want to worry her further, but being informed was a good thing especially in her case. Once you’re on the radar of someone like Crowley it’s best to have at least an overview of all things supernaturally squirrely that could pop up.

"Yes, they are real, but relatively well controlled and none are in this city. You've nothing to concern yourself with on that front." He kept his eyes on the road. "Old wives tales, monsters under the bed, superstitions. There's some truth behind many of the stories." He cut his eyes over to her. "There's a reason people like me exist. I'm sorry you have to deal with it."

"Fucking wonderful,” Meg groused and slouched against the door. “Okay if I keep your number on speed dial? In case Jacob shows up at my front door or something, I want you there" She was serious, if this kind of stuff was real, she'd need Cas closeby. “Unless he’s just a really hot guy with no shirt.” She wondered how Cas looked under his shirt.

Castiel mulled that over. If something else happened of course he'd be there if she called. Maybe if she called him directly he could circumvent the Agency's minimum consultation charge. Wait, no, that was stupid, he could be fired for freelancing; of course, if he was doing a favor for a friend... he cut off that train of thought as unproductive and foolish to even consider.

He was saved from further kicking his own ass for even considering freelancing as he pulled onto the unassuming dirt track that lead to the garage tunnel entrance to under his workplace. The Winchester Agency was housed in the most unassuming home base one could think of: an old, large, extensively renovated fallout bunker situated near the base of the hydroelectric dam that used to provide energy for the town and a good part of the neighboring counties. It had been shuttered for nearly 3 decades once the Wolf Creek nuclear plant came online.

Spotting a bright yellow Pinto that had been lovingly, bewilderingly restored and customized within an inch of its life so it barely resembled the original, he noted, "We’re here. That’s Charlie's car. She’ll keep you...entertained. I think you'll like her."

"So what am I going to be doing here? I get the idea I’m not going to be involved in everything you do today." She looked up at Cas appraisingly.

Holding the front door open, he launched into the list of things he needed to clear today for her case, "I need to check in with my bosses, make sure Hester has my updates on the Crowley fi-" He looked up sharply when a loud electronic whine emanated from a sensor above the doorway.

"Charlie!" he said, voice loud and severe enough that Meg took a step back from him. He shot a hard look at the redhead seated at the receptionist desk wearing a headset, "I thought the EMF scanner had been repaired."

"It was! Not my fault it's gone all wonky again!" Charlie shot back, unaffected by the scowl Cas threw her way because her eyes never left her monitor. "Maybe you died of dullness after turning down my 17th offer to come to a Moondoor tourney." She waggled the fingers of one hand in his direction while the never stopped typing, "You're a ghost and don't know it. Typical you'd still come to work after death. Suck up!"

Cas was right. Meg liked Charlie immediately.

He sighed and glanced at Meg. "She thinks she's hilarious." He flicked his eyes up at the senso before slapping it until it was silenced. "Damn thing’s always going off, usually ectoplasmic residue and most of us have some on us at any given time. Ignore it.” He shrugged out of his trenchcoat and hung it on a rack in the lobby. “Charlie, get Meg some coffee while I do my meeting prep.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re not the boss of me until you respond to all of those,” Charlie snipped back without bothering to look at him as she pointed at a pile of Post-Its on the corner of her desk. “And probably not even then. You know you have to come into the office more than once in a blue moon!”

He immediately leaned over the desk and picked up the colorful stack of sticky notes that passed for Charlie's message center, picking through them to find the blue ones that were for him.

Meg whistled.“Wow, you just hopped right to it and without major stink eye. You feeling okay, Cas?”

"Forget what I said, Charlie, don't get her any coffee," he intoned quite seriously. He inclined his head at the sofa across from the reception desk. "Sit. Stay. I’ll be back within the hour." With that he shoved the notes in his pocket and headed down the hall to plunge into the inner workings of the Winchester Agency.

Meg waited until he was a good 20 feet away before she called in a strident tone she hoped half the building heard, “Don’t bark commands at me like I’m the dog, Cas!” She tapped her foot quite loudly on the polished parquet of the lobby, hands on her canted hips. 

He drew up to a halt, and Meg grinned as the back of his neck flushed scarlet. His head turned like it was on a rusty hinge to look over his shoulder at her, then he performed a begrudging about face and more slouched than stalked back down the hall until he was in front of her again.

Charlie’s attention was completely diverted from her computer and her eyes darted between Castiel and Meg like she was watching a tennis volley. Meg crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an a huffy look.

Castiel did his level best to ignore Charlie’s presence as he muttered, “My apologies.” He inhaled sharply at Meg’s victorious smirk and the dramatic gasp from the redhead’s desk. “Please have a seat and wait for me...if you don’t mind.” His words were nothing but polite, even as his face burned from the way Meg decided to publically bring him to heel for being too abrupt with her.

The brunette made a show of nodding her acceptance of his apology before sinking gracefully onto the sofa and crossing her legs. This time he definitely stalked away, tossing open the door leading to the conference room a bit harder than necessary.

Charlie whistled low and long at his exit, then stood up to lean over her desk and eyeball Meg thoroughly. “You call him Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas,” she sing-songed then clasped her hands dramatically in front of her. “And he apologized. He’s never done that. In his whole life. To anyone! That’s so cute. You two?  My new ship.” She wagged her finger between the brunette and the now empty hallway. 

Meg grinned, this Charlie was alright. “You just have to know how to talk to him,” she said airily and lifted her nose in a snobbish manner.

Charlie collapsed back into her chair, then spun around in it twice before scooting it around her desk and in Meg’s direction. "I just ignore him, especially when he’s all snappy like that, we all do because because seriously? Major ‘tude that one.” The redhead jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction the investigator had vanished.

“Except when we need stuff unearthed, set on fire, and/or located in a spooky forest no one in their right mind would go into. Then he’s the go-to guy. Charlie Bradbury. You’re Margaret Masters, I organized your case file, I know all the deets." She stuck out her hand, hardly taking a breath. “Of course I'm getting you coffee, and a bat if you wanna crack it over his head later for being a douchecanoe. It has stickers on it. We've all taken turns!" She grinned, pumping Meg’s hand up and down like a piston.

"Call me Meg, and the mental image of Cas as a human pinata is enticing...” Meg conceded and tapped a finger on her chin as though seriously considering the offer. “Nah, we’re cool. He'll turn back into a relatively decent human once we get home. You know how the work stuff makes him all scowly."

The look on Charlie’s face was priceless, and her mouth dropped open. “Home? You don’t mean **his** home, do you?? You gained access to the Batcave??" She hopped out of her chair and plopped down on the sofa, all intention of getting a drink for anyone apparently gone.

"How many bodies were in there? Did any books try to bite you? Does he sleep in a coffin, I have $30 riding on that so please say yes. Hey, you think I have enough boobs for your job? I'm like practically concave, but I figure it would be a great way to meet chicks that are so done with men, right?" Red eyebrows waggled.

Meg held up her hands to staunch the barrage of questions, as entertaining as they were. "He’s actually a normal...ish guy” She waggled her hand to indicate how far from actually normal Cas was. “Who is really really really **really** into his work. I'm not supposed to touch the creepy things or poke around a whole lot, so I haven’t seen the bodies or the coffin, but I would soooooo not be surprised if I stumbled over them one morning.”

Meg, unlike Charlie actually had to take a breath. “And Red, mine are like average size; that's what a push-up bra is for. If you have great legs you don’t really need tits, and there's actually quite a few girls I work with who go home with each other." Meg thought she handled the interrogation pretty well.

Charlie threw her hands up in the air. "It's official, I need some holy water, you're under some sort of spell. No one says Castiel is normal. I've been here 3 years and I'm still highly suspicious he's just a really well preserved zombie." She nodded sagely. "There's a bet among the junior investigative pool he sacrificed his meat and/or two veg for some ritual. That's how really into his work he is. So sad. Leave it to him to land the most smoking client we've had in forever and be the most likely to completely waste the opportunity."

She gave Meg the once over. “And you don’t ping my gaydar, dangit!” She snapped her fingers in frustration then bounced back off the sofa like there was a spring in her backside. “Oh right, coffee!"

If Meg wasn’t so incredibly entertained by Charlie’s antics she might have gotten whiplash from trying to keep up with her. As it was, she bobbed her head in thanks for someone remembering that she needed a much higher caffeine content in her bloodstream this early.

“Thanks, that would be great. And I swear it’s no spell.” She crossed her heart with a grin.

“He’s just super dedicated to this hoodoo crap. It’s actually kinda impressive, if a bit annoying that I can’t get away with much funny business or he gets grumpy and runs away.”

Well, last night Cas hadn’t run so much as hidden at his desk, but either way she made a move to get a tad closer, get to know the guy under the hoodoo and he backed way off.

Charlie walked down the hallways backward, her hands rising to cover her mouth and stifle her glee. "You TRIED?! He RAN?! Please tell me he threw up too, or pulled a stake on you, I'd believe that, or maybe put you in a chokehold in a panic reflex. Or read you a really really boring treatise on the evolution of the Catholic exorcism. That would turn anyone off."

"Sorry, nothing like that," Meg snorted as Charlie ducked into and back out of what must be the break room in seconds with a mug closer to the size of a bowl than a cup in her hands. Oh, Meg so liked this woman.

"He’s actually pretty polite, once you remind him. You saw him.” She gestured in the direction he’d gone. “He apologized, and he usually says good night and please and stuff. I even got him to eat at the table, instead of over the sink, like a proper human.” She was teasing, exaggerating, but the look of sheer exhilaration on Charlie’s face at all these discoveries about Castiel was too good to resist.

Cas might freak out at her later for revealing these boring little things about the guy under the flasher coat, but that would be really silly. It wasn’t like letting his co-workers know he wasn’t an actual monster was a bad thing.

"Sorry, nope, don't believe you, despite being my personal superhero for actually macking on Castiel. He's not a human, he’s a flipping spellcasting cyborg." Charlie nod, nod, nodded quickly like the Hermione bobblehead on her desk. "Don't get me wrong, he's fricking killer at his job, literally. His creepy crawly body count should be a video game achievement, but he's such a...a...." at a loss for words to describe how frustratingly single-minded about work to the exclusion of the rest of all of existence, "UGH!"

Meg chuckled and took a sip of lava-like coffee. “Mm this is good, liquid rocket fuel.” She took another sip and sighed happily before returning her attention to Charlie. She curled her hands around the mug. “He’s really serious about keeping things as professional as possible while I’m bunking with him,” she insisted; there was no way she’d ever impeach Castiel’s professionalism, he was saving her life.

“I don’t ‘mack’ on him at home, not like I did when we first met at work, but that’s kinda how I pay the rent.”

The color rapidly drained from Charlie’s face and her jaw went slack.

“What?” Meg queried.

“...I...I thought you guys met because he was assigned to your case.”

“...Ummmmm.” Whoops, maybe Meg should have stopped while she was ahead.

"Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooo," Charlie moaned in disbelief then started flapping her hands at Meg as though she was about to prepare for lift off, "Are you telling me... **you are telling me**... **YOU ARE TELLING ME CASTIEL GOES TO STRIP CLUBS**?!" She slapped her hands over her mouth, realizing a bit too late she'd absolutely shrieked that last part.

The redhead spun around wildly, checking over both shoulders then parted her fingers a tiny bit to squeak, "Tell me you are kidding, no don't. Tell me you are eleventy thousand percent totally and for real serious right now, or I swear to god I'm going to die and come back and haunt you." She dropped her hands suddenly. "O.M.G. I am so sorry, I wouldn't haunt you, you've got ghosty issues galore already. But seriously? Mister Married to My Grimoire gets lap dances??? "

This was clearly not going to stay a secret because Charlie obviously would not recognize one if it gave **her** a lap dance. In for a penny, in for a pound Meg decided.

"Eh, people with high stress jobs cope in all sorts of ways. Booze, drugs, sex, blah blah. Even Castiel has his poison.” She tossed her head with a cheeky look, her curtain of dark hair slipping over one shoulder. “I just happen to be one of the better looking poisons.”

The redhead burst into a short cackle, one hand resting over her heart. "The Tin Man has something other than an oil can in his pants.  That’s so crazyl!” Charlie looked positively blown away by the sheer volume of new intel on the dour investigator. “Whoa, Castiel has juicy hidden depths, and I was so certain he'd donated his personality to science. Go you for proving he's human" She punched Meg in the shoulder good naturedly then started when the phone on her desk rang. "Oh, blerg, back to the grind, nose to it and all that."

She scrambled back behind her desk and resettled her headset, fingers once again skimming over the computer keys briskly as she answered the phone with a "Winchester Agency! Are they on a slab or you need 'em stabbed? Salt and burn or did your boss just turn? Totally kidding, how can I help you? Uh-huh...uh-huh, shifter? Ok, transferring you to Rachel."

Meg sat back and tried to gather her thoughts from where they’d flown out of her mouth and into the air for Charlie to snatch up. Ok, so Cas was probably going to freak out in that really intense, sort of scary, quiet way where his voice got even lower the more pissed he was, but what was she supposed to do?? Charlie was this conversational whirlwind and she just got sucked into it. It totally wasn’t her fault.

Yes, that was her party line and Meg was sticking to it. And Cas could just go suck an egg for apparently presenting himself as a cyborg vampire zombie to his co-workers when he was actually just a guy. A dorky, smart, sort of nice, maybe just a dollop funny, and definitely still a bit creepy guy.

Meg sipped her still scalding coffee and idly wondered if she could convince Cas to bring some of this home because mmm good stuff.

"Charlie," a smooth voice with the hint of a continental accent drawled and Meg looked up to see a blond man, in what she knew was an expensive silk blend shirt and sharp black blazer, lounged against the edge of the redhead’s desk, chin propped up in his hand.

"Please remind Sam that unless it's something akin to the apocalypse, I simply don't do morning meetings. I had to drag myself away from an enchanting soprano at this ungodly hour just as she was hitting the most exquisite high notes." A slim finger flicked through the Post-Its, plucking out the green ones, then reached over to hit the hang-up button on the phone just as the receptionist picked up another call.

"Honestly, it’s like no one listens to me on the important issues,” the man lamented in a cultured tone that bespoke a certain weariness that came from dealing with plebeians. “It's just so pedestrian to walk out in the middle of such a stellar performance, and I’ve no idea when Don Giovanni will play in this god forsaken town ag-"

Shrewd eyes surrounded by handsome crinkles landed on Meg.

"On the other hand,” he said, changing tack mid-sentence, “If there's a new client needing our services, who am I to say no?" He stood up and smoothly brushed his hands down his lapels as he sauntered over to Meg. "Balthazar. What can I do," he lingered over the word, "for you, love?


	16. Chapter 16

One dark brow rose as she took in yet another interesting Winchester Agency employee. The blonde gentleman positively radiated confidence and a sophisticated sort of smarm. She’d definitely seen his kind before, especially in her line of work, but there was something merry in his demeanor that didn’t set her teeth on edge. 

Besides, if he worked here with Cas, he couldn’t be a bad guy, right?

She gave him an obvious once-over then held out her hand. “Meg. Can you keep me entertained until Castiel is out of his meeting?”

“Charmed, Meg. Positively and absolutely,” Balthazar drawled as he turned her hand over to brush his lips over the back. Without dropping her hand, he folded himself into the spot next to her on the waiting room sofa and crossed his legs gracefully. “Castiel, hm? I recall he had a particularly sticky case land on his desk, a dancer for a client.” He draped his arm along the back of sofa behind Meg’s head.

Meg thought if supernatural investigating didn’t pan out, Balthazar might make a good living as a phone sex operator; his voice was smooth, cultured and she couldn’t at all place the accent. British? Irish? A dab of French in there? She’d no idea, but it was delicious.

“That would be you then. I thought you looked familiar, surely I’ve seen those legs before.” Light eyes wandered over her without a shred of modesty and his smile turned confidential as he leaned in. “The Bolshoi. Last spring? I’m quite convinced you were Dona Seraphina in Paquita, yes?”

Charlie leaned around her desktop monitor to catch Meg’s eye and quietly mimed sticking her finger down her throat.

Meg gave him a wry look. It was a hell of a line, but a line nonetheless. "Less ballet, more pole sort of dancer.” Oh, he was charming, but he was also dime a dozen. Ok, to be fair maybe a dime for 2 rather than 12. Lay on the compliments thick with the accent, drop a few cultured words, and they think women will drop to their knees. She didn’t fall for it, but Balthazar _was_ entertaining. 

And it never got old being told she had nice legs.

One thin eyebrow arched in delight. "Ah, a performer of the exotic arts." His thumb caressed the back of her hand slowly. "My favorite kind. Tell me, hasn't being saddled with dear, dreary Castiel been 50 shades of dull? Surely you'd appreciate an investigator with a bit more," he inched closer, " _vigor_ to take your case, hm?"

Her head cocked to the side as she watched him pour on the charm, even though it was getting him nowhere in the direction he was hoping. "Balthazar,” she chided with a sly grin, “if you pursued a _vigorous_ investigation for me I’d be the one handing you the bill, and my rates are lethal.” The surprise on Balthazar’s face quickly turned to something calculating and the hand that held hers dropped it in favor of moving towards her knee.

And extremely fake, loud, and dry cough sounded, and Meg’s calculated smirk slid to a sunny smile as she looked past Balthazar’s shoulder.

Castiel squinted in annoyance at the other investigator's overly familiar posturing with Meg, his arm cast not at all casually close to her shoulders. With more vehemence than he intended, he growled "Trying to poach my client, Balthazar?"

“Heya, Cas,” Meg greeted but didn’t make a move to get away from the blonde man practically hovering over her. “Balthazar was just keeping me from getting bored.”

Castiel paced across the lobby to stand, or more accurately loom, over the two of them situated rather snugly on the couch. “I can see that.” He narrowed his eyes at his cohort, expression severe even for him.

“Ah, Cassie,” Balthazar drawled, even if he barely flicked a glance up at his fellow investigator before gazing back at the beguiling young thing next to me. “Meg here was just telling me all the lovely things she could do for a competent investigator.” He smirked and ghosted fingertips over her shoulder. “Such a shame she’s wasted on you.”

Meg genuine amusement at Balthazar’s glib attitude took a turn into absolutely evil delight in the way Castiel’s face flushed and his lips thinned into a tight line. She’d only known Cas a handful of days and even she knew questioning his professionalism or his capabilities was a terrible idea. She wondered if Balthazar was a complete idiot or such an actual badass under his suave exterior that he simply wasn’t intimidated by Cas.

“Oh, you think you can take on Alastair?” Castiel growled.

Balthazar’s gaze turned from Meg’s profile to skitter back to his cohort. “...Alastair?”

Meg wasn’t an expert at reading Cas’ face while on the job, but damn if he didn’t look pleased with himself. “Yes, it’s been set upon her by _Crowley_. Is that the sort of case a ‘competent’ investigator like you can handle?” Cas said in such a haughty way that Meg almost started laughing. 

The hand that had been on her knee and the other lingering near her shoulder vanished as Balthazar sat back from her quickly. 

Despite the older man’s confidence, Castiel was given the hardest cases for a reason and Balthazar’s last encounter with a scheme involving Crowley had gone abysmally and lead to the nervy European taking a leave of absence to recover. Castiel felt the smug dick needed to remember that before trying to snake his clients, especially Meg. 

Meg’s small malicious streak emerged at Castiel’s reaction. He was being protective, of her personally or her case she didn’t really care. His reaction was just so passionately indignant she couldn’t resist needling him a tiny bit. 

She turned and gave Balthazar the slightest pout. “What, you don’t think you can handle me?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes to mere slits at the other investigator, daring him. The blond’s eyes slipped quickly between Castiel standing in front of them to Meg sitting so prettily next to him. 

“Ah,” Balthazar cleared his throat as he stood up, hands brushing down the front of his jacket, “I’m terribly sorry, my dear,” he continued as he edged around Castiel who was, quite deliberately, standing too close in that way he knew made others uncomfortable. “But Alastair? Oh no, I’m afraid vengeful spirits simply aren’t my forte.” 

He looked at Meg regretfully, ah so close, but so haunted.

“Vampires, sirens, weres, and the like, that’s more my speciality. The sort of nasties one can dispatch a tad less messily than that grey fellow. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he edged sideways towards the lobby exit. “I’ve a tête-à-tête with dear Sam and you know how unbearable he gets when kept waiting.”

He started for the inner sanctum of the agency before one last idea occurred to him and he backtracked, leaning around Castiel’s immoveable frame, to swiftly slip Meg one of his crisp, expensive business cards.

“Once that nasty business of yours is concluded...if you require any other services, love, don’t hesitate to call my mobile.” With that, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his custom tailored slacks and ambled away.

Charlie didn’t bother to cover up the puke noise she made as Balthazar disappeared around a corner.

Meg’s completely failed to stifle a snort then grinned up at Castiel. “He’s too sweet. About gave me a toothache. How’s the stuff going?” She picked up her now cooled coffee in one hand and smacked the sofa next to her with the other, indicating Cas should sit. He really did tend to loom if you didn’t make him knock it off.

He ignored the invitation and jerked his head towards a conference room. “You said you wanted to sit in. Hester’s waiting.” He turned abruptly on his heel and tossed opened the door to the meeting room and stalked in ahead of her, for once not bothering to hold it open for her.

Meg sighed dramatically, which made Charlie giggle from behind her bank of monitors, flicked her hair over her shoulder and made it a point to take her time sashaying across the lobby and into the conference room. 

Castiel thunked down into a seat next to his severe looking coworker, Hester. Damned Balthazar with his endless client poaching and smarmy, yet bafflingly and frustratingly effective charm. Of course Meg would like the bastard. Everyone did, even if he was a slimy git and only a half-assed investigator. Alright, Castiel would give him credit, Balthazar was better than the average medium and had proven himself useful on a few of his cases that required a bit more social finesse than he, himself, could muster.

“Hester, Meg. Meg, Hester,” he grunted before flipping out a thick case file and ducking his head down towards it.

Meg studied the blonde woman across the table from her and sitting on Castiel’s left. She wore a no-nonsense dark grey suit, crisp white shirt and her pale hair was perfectly coiffed in glossy waves that fell to her shoulders. The look on her face was devoid of nearly all expression except the pinch between her eyebrows as she studied Meg right back. 

And apparently found something lacking as she exhaled audibly then turned towards Castiel, her posture and words all, but dismissing Meg from the conversation that started up. “So, Ms. Masters stole from Crowley and now he’s set the most malicious vengeful spirit in the Agency’s records on her. She must be particularly annoying for him to use so much manna binding a creature as strong as Alastair.”

Meg bristled, but said nothing. Barely. Castiel was a bit of a prick when working too, didn’t mean he wasn’t good at his job. 

Her fingers slipped past Castiel’s arm to draw a few sheets from the file in front of him. He looked at what she took and pushed a few more at her without comment, seeming to know exactly what she was looking for. Meg noted they must work together often to be adept at that sort of silent exchange.

“Hm,” Hester mused as she peered at the pages in front of her. “Simple assault, even if it was more a wound to Crowley’s ego than his body, isn’t quite enough to work the man up enough to waste so much energy on Ms. Masters. How much-?” She interrupted herself as Castiel tapped finger on a page in front of her, pointing out the dollar figure. Hesters sighed and shook her head. “Even that’s not enough. He has money, he can always get more. What did she do to force Crowley’s hand into dealing with Alastair?”

Meg opened her mouth to object to A) being treated like she wasn’t in the room and B) talked about like this was her frigging fault.

Cas had told her no matter what she did, she didn’t deserve this and, damnit, she was sticking to that.

“Hael de Angelis,” Cas muttered cutting off anything Meg was about to say. He didn’t look at her, but at Hester’s profile as he rifled through the file. “Latest addendum Sam added this morning.” He laid down a photocopy of a driver’s license photo. “Krissy Chambers” And laid down a second. “She liberated them from Crowley. They’re minors.” 

Hester finally spared a glance in Meg’s direction. “And he knew?” 

Meg was a bit miffed at being ignored, but the whole Hael and Krissy thing was a bit more important than her ego. “Yeah, didn’t care though. They shouldn’t have been there. So when I left I got them out too.”

Hester fixed her with a penetrating look. “Hm, you took a great many things that belong to him, and trafficking minors isn’t something he can easily wiggle out of in court. Especially not if we can call them in to testi-”

“NO,” Meg cut her off loudly. “I don’t know how you guys found out about them.” She shot Cas a hard look, but he returned it with a very bland one of his own. 

Right, investigator, it’s what they do.

“But last I heard they were both doing pretty good, better than any of us hoped after what that smarmy dick put them through. You can’t drag them back into this. Definitely not on my account.” She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed both investigators with a flinty glare. 

Hester watched her in this unblinkingly manner that, unfortunately, reminded Meg of how Cas sometimes stared at her. Like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her...or she was just a really interesting bug under a glass. 

“I’m serious,” Meg insisted, “They’re out, leave them out. If Crowley catches a sniff of them he might, I don’t know, send Alastair after them!” The idea was flat out horrifying, and Cas seemed to agree if the way his expression darkened was any indication. “Wouldn’t we rather keep that thing fixated on just me? That’s easier to handle right?” She gave him a pleading look. Sure, she wanted the ghost off her ass, but even considering letting it loose on those girls was out of the question.

“She has a point, Hester,” Castiel conceded, nodding to his associate. “I’m the protection detail on Meg for the duration; she’s covered and those girls are not. We should concentrate on dealing with Alastair first. Worry about building a case on Crowley later.”

Hester thinned her lips as she conceded the point. “Fair enough. Once that monster is taken care of I want to talk to those girls.”

Meg opened her mouth to object again, but Cas cut her off. 

“That can be discussed later _and_ with Sam and Dean,” he interjected. “A client’s immediate needs take priority over the...special projects.” He gave Hester a heavy look. 

Hester sighed as though very put out, but dropped it for the moment and instead turned her focus to another matter. “It’s been following her, both work and home?”

And again with the invisible Meg treatment. This was getting old.

“Yes, it’s been following ME,” she said forcefully. Jesus, if she thought Cas’ personality could be prickly Hester was a complete cactus. “It keeps popping up at my damn job. If I haven’t already been fired I probably have to quit because other people are getting hurt.”

Hester ignored that and flipped through the paper in front of her and ran her pen down a spreadsheet. “All the dates and times you’ve seen it?” she queried.

Meg tilted her head to try and read upside down, but that list seemed a bit long. “Uh...not more than a handful.”

“All the times _I’ve_ seen it,” Cas interjected, his own finger tapping a few lines. “In the car Meg was...distracted. Alastair appeared several times along the route between her place of employment and my residence.”

Meg didn’t say anything, torn between grateful Cas had kept her from noticing that and annoyed he hadn’t at least given her a heads up.

Hester looked pensive, brows drawing further down before she muttered. “It’s tracking.”

“I concur,” Cas agreed.

“Someone want to explain to me?” Meg groused, unhappy she was losing the thread again.

“Crowley would have informed Alastair of where you live, where you work, he has the resources to find those things easily. And to place items there that allow Alastair to manifest.”

“No hex bags at her place, no sigils or runes either. No EMF spikes in her apartment or her job. I was thorough.” Cas sounded adamant.

Hester nodded, not doubting for a moment that Castiel had done his job exceptionally well as usual. “It has to be something else.” She seemed to realize Meg was still waiting for an explanation and her tone took on a lecturing tone as she tapped her pen. “Spirits can’t move about freely, they’re tethered to physical markers. The site of their death, where their remains lie, etc. They can be summoned by certain spells or a physical object imbued with the necessary magicks, but that’s only for a brief time and it has to be done by someone. Alastair can’t just go anywhere it wants.”

Castiel picked up when Hester paused. “I thought at first I might have missed something at your house, Meg. Perhaps something under the floorboards, and your job is not a place I can easily search. But when Alastair appeared en route between your job and my house…” he cleared his throat, “It shouldn’t be able to do that. Following us down roads that couldn’t possibly have markers set along them.”

“It’s troubling,” Hester summed up as she gave Meg the laser like inspection again. “Not something we’ve seen before, and it raises questions.” 

The blonde looked peeved, not angry because would require a level of emotion Meg wasn’t quite sure she possessed, so peeved was good enough.

“I don’t like questions. I like answers.” Hester flicked her pen in Meg’s direction. “So you will go about your routine, go to work, go do whatever it is when you’re not swinging around a pole.” For having all the personality of a shoe sole, Hester certainly injected a heavy layer of disdain into that remark. “Draw it out, lure it to you, keep it focused on you.”

It took her a second to process what the blonde said, but when it did, "Excuse me? You want me to _bait_ it? What happened to staying the hell away from it and, y’know, keep breathing??" She looked at Cas for help.

"Hester," Castiel started almost before Meg had finished speaking and he leaned towards the blond, serious. "Alastair has already passed through one innocent in an effort to get to Meg. Using her as a lure may put other civilians in danger."

Hester snapped her eyes to Castiel, "What's the problem? Spectral touches are fleeting and the victims typically recover within a couple of days. Your report stated Alastair can't touch her, you gave her iron and salt wards to keep on her person." Her pen tap-tap-tapped on the paper in a level rhythm that didn’t alter as she spoke. 

"Clever, Castiel, and effective. She'll be fine, and what we need is to know how often and closely Alastair appears to her. How is it finding her? You saw it outside your residence and that has never happened." She gave Castiel as squint to match his own. "We need to know how this is happening. We need to know so it doesn’t happen again. Not to this client or any other."

Castiel didn’t look angry, but he was displeased, mostly at how logical and correct Hester’s points were. He pursed his lips and slowly sat back in his chair, folding his hands on the table as his eyes roamed from the investigator next to him to the client across.

The brunette and blonde were a complete study in opposites. 

Hester was polished and radiated a studied, practiced sort of calm. She excelled at distancing herself from the passions their job tended to rouse; he’d never once seen her afraid. Any emotion that stirred in her she typically buried under layers of icy aloofness.

Meg, on the other hand, would be completely awful at poker. Her emotions raced over her face as she vacillated between worried and irritated throughout the meeting. Nearly everything she said sounded sarcastic whether she intended it to or not, a deflection mechanism that was long ingrained.

Both women look at him expectantly and he sighed because he knew there was nothing he could say that would please both.

“Hester’s right,” he finally had to concede. "We do need to know. This simply doesn't happen, the way it's manifesting where you are." He spared her an apologetic glance and, without thinking about it, leaned over the table and rested his hand on her forearm, squeezing in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “In all likelihood, the pattern as to how Alastair is tracking you will make itself clear. It’s a spirit. It’s mean, but it is not all that intelligent.”

Meg sighed, and it sounded painfully defeated to Castiel’s ears. 

He gave Hester a sharp look, as though daring her to disagree with his next words. “Hester will work the Crowley angle; if anyone can locate him it’s her. Once we have him we will...persuade him to give up his vendetta against you and the location of Alastair’s remains.”

Hester nodded sharply. “I’ll call in Uriel.”

“I expected nothing less,” Castiel replied solemnly. Hester started stacking the papers spread in front of her into a neat pile, a clear indicator she was calling this meeting to an end.

Meg just sat there, a little numb to everything that had been discussed. She had given up trying to argue against anything they said; they were the experts and clearly the client’s opinion only went so far. Her initial reaction had been to say 'Hell no, you can't make me do that', but she thought for a moment. She hated Alistair and Crowley for so many reasons. Castiel had come up with ways to protect her so she was untouchable. She would do whatever they needed her to do to crack this case and, more importantly, do it without dragging Hael and Krissy into this shitstorm.

They got out once. The chances of getting away from Crowley a second time were practically zero.

She sighed, "Fine. Anything else you need from me?" Fuck her life.

Castiel blinked. He hadn’t expected such easy acquiescence. He thought Meg would put up a fight, scowl, grouse, maybe even tell him and Hester both to fuck off. But she didn't. She faced the hard and scary facts and accepted the reality, unpleasant as it was. She was certainly something. Exactly _what_ he wasn't entirely sure, but it was something he admired.

"When we do the summoning to dispose of Alastair, you'll need to be there.” He shot a look at Hester that had her closing her mouth nearly as quickly as she opened it. “That's not how we usually operate, but the spirit is tracking you, and it’s our best guarantee it will appear where and when we want and in an environment we strictly control.” 

Meg’s stricken expression was not something he wanted to see again anytime soon. “Also, I will be there. You’ll be safe.” He lifted his hand from her arm and sat back, handing papers to Hester to put away. The blonde frowned and it tugged sharp lines in her thin face.

“In the meantime, I need to prepare you for certain contingencies. A spell or two, additional wards in case things do not..." he glanced at Hester and she nodded, "have the precise outcome we desire. We can discuss this in further detail at home." 

Meg nodded again and took a deep, quiet breath, mentally preparing herself, "I can do it" she said to herself and Castiel, ignoring Hester. If Castiel was there and she kept the collar and ring she should be fine. She could do this. Not like she really had a choice.

The side of his mouth started to hitch up at that, but he quickly resumed his usual more stoic expression when he saw Hester look at Meg skeptically. "I'm rather confident she can," he confirmed to Hester with an ambivalent shrug, but one eyelid flicked in a slight wink when Hester picked up the file and stood up, making to leave.

"Fine, do whatever you have to, Castiel. I'll call you when we're ready to talk to Crowley." She leveled a flat look at Meg, like she was some tiresome chore she was glad to be done with. "You're not invited to that meeting." The blonde marched out, heels clacking crisply down the polished tile of the hall.

She narrowed her eyes at Hester and was about to make an obscene gesture at the other woman’s departing back, but Castiel was still there. She gave him a look that said she was not over the moon about any of this. 

"Only _rather_ confident, huh, Cas?" she groused.

"Once you learn a few necessary warding practices I'll revise my opinion to something much more complimentary," he said with a little equanimity. "But we should do as Hester suggests." He ignored that Hester's suggestions always sounded like commands; his did too. "I trust her judgement."

"She needs to get laid," Meg observed snarkily. "Nobody can be that uptight all the time, they'll die from stress. Maybe you should..." Meg gave him a lecherous smirk that felt plenty fake on her face but was also pretty calculating. Cas seemed to respect the hell out of that stuffed shirt blonde. Just how far did his good opinion go?

The look on his face was pretty transparent, especially for Castiel whose work poker face was usually carved in stone. The expression plainly said _that_ sort of thing with Hester would happen approximately around the time hell froze over. 

"Please, Meg" he sighed, annoyance lacing through every word, "she's a long time work colleague and you’d be hard pressed to find a more dedicated investigator." He rose and gather up his own files to tuck into his briefcase. "Besides," he added, "she used to be a nun."

“Thought you had a thing for nuns,” Meg said in reflex before wincing at the sharp look he gave her over the table as he started sweeping the papers into his briefcase. “Ok, yeah, not talking mixing up my work with your work, I remember.” She flapped a hand in the air as though brushing her lame joke away. “But seriously, how does a nun wind up doing this?”

“About 10 years ago a demon slaughtered the whole of her convent. She only survived by playing dead and hiding under the body of her Mother Superior. She decided she had a better chance fighting back our way than by turning the other cheek. She very dedicated.” Cas relayed all this in a bland sort of voice that was completely at odds with the awful thing he’d just revealed about his cohort.

Meg paled. “Shit.”

He nodded, eyes on the task of tidying up the conference room, locking his case methodically then coming over to pull Meg’s chair out for her. “Exactly. Most of the people who work here have personal reasons for it. This isn’t exactly the sort of employment one completes a major in while at college.”

“You going to share your reason, Cas?” she inquired, curious, as he lead her back to the lobby.

His eyes flicked down to her face then back up and as he saw Charlie giving him a disturbingly delighted look. “Some other time. Charlie, I need these receipts reimbursed.” Cas fished into his trenchcoat pocket and dropped a crumpled wad of paper on the assistant’s desk. “Send them to Adam first and if he argues about reimbursing me for items from my personal stores, go around him and get Sam to approve it, he’s more reasonable about these things. Less of a bean counter.”

Charlie sighed loudly and proceeded to make a production over unwadding the receipts and dramatically smoothing them out. “You know you could make this easier on everyone if you just got your stuff straight from supplies or actually put in your orderly properly through purchasing in the first place,” she said tartly. “But nooooo you’re special.”

“I am,” Cas confirmed as he put his hand on Meg’s back to steer her for the exit. 

She waved at the redhead, hoping she got a chance to come down here again to chat with her. She was a riot.

“And Charlie,” Cas tossed over his shoulder as he hauled the door open. “I sleep in a crypt, not a coffin, there’s a difference.”


	17. Chapter 17

"It was pretty educational seeing where you work, Cas,” Meg noted with a bit of humor as she slipped into his car. “Not as fun as my workplace, of course, but you work with interesting folks. Some are pretty cool.” She didn’t mean Hester, not by a long shot.

"You're completely insane," he replied without rancor. "The entire agency is made up of entirely maladjusted personalities, at least half of whom have sociopathic tendencies, myself included." He nodded, this was all entirely true, you had to be at least partially emotionally or mentally compromised to do this line of work.

Meg dragged the seatbelt over her lap. “I dunno, I mean I’m pretty good at reading people right off the bat, have to in my line of work. Most of the ones I met seem like pretty good people. If they weren't, they wouldn't be trying to help, right?” She looked to him for confirmation.

“Not everyone is inherently good, Meg," he demurred mildly, although it was really more like a warning. She hadn't met Naomi, and he had no plans to let that happen. Some people did this work simply because they liked killing things. It was the work, the cause that was just, not necessarily the people. He included himself in that generalization. People got into this business because of greed, for vengeance, to purge their own anger or slake their violent tendencies. If you weren’t broken before you started this job, you were shortly thereafter.

“Eh, long as you and whoever else gets dragged in on this keeps Alastair away from me, you’re all personal saviors in my book.” She tossed a tenuous smile in his direction. “We haven’t seen it so far today. Even if it’s just Hester’s frigid personality keeping it away, I’m grateful.” Even if she didn’t like being talked down to, but her ego would recover eventually.

"No, I’ve not seen it, but daytime manifestations are extremely rare. There’s no documentation of Alastair presenting in daylight," he confirmed, even as he checked over his shoulder reflexively. "Still, it's best to educate you on a few more countermeasures, so you can protect yourself in addition to my assistance.” He couldn’t be her white knight forever, and Meg was capable. She could absolutely handle a bit more responsibility for protecting herself.

“Alastair's lasted a long time by merit of it's own deviousness. So," he cleared his throat and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel as he directed the car back towards his place, "Salt and iron are fine, but we need to think broader in case it or Crowley gets more creative now that it can't touch you. Hex bags. I'll teach you how to make them when we get home- back to my place.”

The question on Meg’s face was clear. Cas found he was liking her curious nature more and more, even if it had a tendency to get her into trouble. Meg wasn’t the sort to be blissful in ignorance, she wanted to learn, how to apply what she was taught and take care of herself, with Cas’ help.

“A hex bag is a charm composed of a mixture of herbs, talismans, sanctified or otherwise imbued ingredients placed in a piece of cloth and bound with leather. They can used for protection or to inflict harm on others, depending on the ingredients and the intention of the hex maker."

“So you can...curse people?” She frowned, "That’s fucked up." Her hand rose to finger the charms strung around her neck. “Those tattoos and stuff keep you safe so you don’t need them?”

He didn’t look over at her, just nodded tightly. “Against some things they do, not everything. I’ve a bag in my pocket right now, among other things. There’s another in the glovebox.” When her hand automatically rose towards the dashboard, he stopped her with a touch to her arm. “Er...probably best to leave that shut.“

She pulled her hand back and eyed the glovebox suspiciously. “Cas, if I get around to opening your freezer, am I going to find a dead body in there or something?”

He let the silence in the car linger before his mouth quirked in a suppressed grin. “Not an entire one, no. Not enough room. Maybe just an arm”

Taking a moment to absorb what Cas said Meg then leaned over to punch him in the shoulder. “Jackass! I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not half the time!”

“One of life’s great mysteries,” he noted as he rubbed where she socked him. Just as he’d suspected, Meg had a decent jab. He fished in the interior breast pocket of his dress jacket, holding it out on his open palm for her to see. “I keep one on me whenever I leave the house." Her fingers itched towards the small, neatly tied, red bag immediately; Meg was just quite inquisitive about these sorts of things rather than creeped out. It was refreshing; many clients shied away from this sort of information, preferring to leave it to the professionals. 

"Once made you can’t open a hex bag or the protective magic is broken. If you wanted to curse someone with a bag, you'd need something of theirs to place within it to focus the curse on the intended target, then secret it onto their person or into the room they’re in." He tucked the bag back into his coat pocket before she could touch it. "Of course, I won't be teaching you that one." 

“Ok, lessons after we go to my place, please?” Meg reminded him. “I pretty much ran out with whatever I grabbed first. I need other stuff besides work clothes and what was on my floor that didn’t stink.”

He nodded and corrected his route to turn in the direction of Meg’s side of town. “Your apartment is decently warded, we should be fine in there for a while, so get whatever you need.”

“At this rate I’ll have practically moved in by the end of the week,” Meg said in an off-hand manner. She had the niggling idea she could easily get too comfortable in Cas’ cushy big-ass bed and that amazing shower and his coffee maker with more features than most cars. She mentally kicked herself for even daydreaming idly about that stupid stuff. 

Cas spoke quickly to alleviate the downward tug of her mouth; it was clear she wasn’t happy about the idea of staying with him. “It’s just temporary.” 

Even if she was joking as a way to alleviate her own nagging concerns, he would really loved if she stopped saying things like that and putting ridiculous, impossible ideas in his head, ones impossibly foreign to him.

He rid himself of them one by one by reminding himself just how impractical they each were.

Getting up early with her? Right, she worked nearly as stupidly late hours as him. 

Debating what movie to watch? He didn't even have a tv.

Making herself at home? She tip-toed around his loft filled with the arcane and weird and a few cursed objects in his workshop, there was no way she’d feel at home there.

Home cooked meals together? Reality was eating cold cereal because the cupboard was otherwise nearly bare or inadequate and bland pasta.

“You'll be free to go back to your place soon enough," he vowed.

“Free? You make it sound like you’re holding me hostage.” 

"Alastair is, in a way." He took a left then a right and bumped over the railroad tracks. "I know it's not ideal, but it's all we have to work with for the time being. So your patience with the limitations put on you by staying with me is appreciated. I know the space is a little tight for two people." 

“It’s not that bad, Cas.” She propped her chin up in her hand and watched the scenery slide past the car window. “I mean, sure, I can’t come and go like I usually would, but it’s a nice place. And the company’s improved the last few days.” She slid him a brief smile. 

Cas was having enough trouble reconciling this wry, expressive woman with the siren he thought he knew. This Meg, the more genuine her, was infinitely more troublesome to his sense of well-being than the shallow fantasy she’d been to him before. 

He was spared any further frustrating musings on the topic as he pulled up in front of her building and was out of the car and around to her door in seconds, head turning to scan the street automatically.

Her investigator’s insistence on opening doors and escorting her like a bodyguard everywhere was becoming a constant upon which Meg relied. She easily accepted his arm out of the car and felt the touch of his hand to her back as he brought her inside. “Just another bag or two, Cas. Promise I’m not going to take over your whole place,” she offered.

“It’s fine, it’s not like I’ve offered you a drawer or anywhere to keep your stuff.” He considered perhaps he should have, but the lines regarding the current living situation were impossible to draw.

Meg hurried up the steps to her upper floor. “Drawers are for people sharing a bed, not when one of them is relegated to the couch.” She wondered if Cas slept on his side, flat on his back, on his stomach. Face crushed into a pillow. If he snored. If he thrashed or slept like the dead and didn’t move for hours.

The noise Cas made in response to her comment was noncommittal as he followed her up the stairs. He noted the subtle shift of Meg's back under his palm through her thin blouse. Hear the tick-tack of her boot heels on creaking wood. He felt the whisper of the tips of her hair brushing the top of his hand as they walked. He should be more aware of their surroundings instead of her, but she was next to impossible to tune out. He supposed a little excessive hyper-awareness of her wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He couldn't, at least, be accused of not keeping a close watch on her.

“Home sweet-...ugh” Meg huffed when the door swung open and something palpably rotten greeted them. “That’s not good, is it, Cas?”

“Stay here,” he replied, a grim set to his jaw, his hand on her elbow kept her in the hall. “If you hear or see anything go immediately to the car and call the Agency.”

The nod she gave him was tight, her lips pressed into a line as she watched Cas poke his head in her place, sniff obviously then start a circuit of the den, flashlight pulled from his pocket and inspecting everything just as he did the first day he’d darkened her doorstep. He checked all the corners, behind doors, under things with alert precision. Only when satisfied the den was truly empty did he proceed inside, then disappeared into the kitchen to do the same.

“Ah!”

“What?! Cas?!” Meg called nervously from the hallway, fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt.

He appeared holding his nose comically with a large bag in his hand. “Forgot to take out the garbage when you ran out the other day. Also, I think your electricity went out at some point, whatever was in the fridge has gone bad.”

She groaned, “You scared the shit out of me!” 

He deposited the tied shut trash bag in the hallway. “I believe there is a new form of penicillin growing in your fridge. We should alert the medical journals.”

She peered into the fridge and winced, "I think it's looking at me. Ew.” She banged the door shut. “I paid the electric bill, just not on time. Can’t believe they cut it off." She shivered then moved away to her bedroom door, "I’ll grab my suitcase and get what I need. Go ahead and snoop if you want, acquaint yourself with an actual, real-life, fancy TV.” She hooked a thumb at the old idiot box in the corner, it wasn’t even an LCD. 

Sure, she had serious dough socked away, but you didn’t save for retirement by splurging on anything other than the necessities. The 40+ inch flat screen could wait a bit, ideally until Crowley was off her ass and maybe she vamoosed to another state.

While Meg packed, Cas decided it would be best not to leave the horror in her fridge to continue to ferment, fester, or evolve further. He dumped it out along with a few dessicated marbles that might have been grapes at some point. He opened a tupperware container, sniffed, and immediately tossed the contents in the bag as well and set about wiping out the interior to eliminate the smell. When Meg was able to return here permanently he doubted she'd enjoy having to clean too much, so he quietly tidied up the kitchen, folding and setting aside the dishrags and soaking the dried dishes in the sink.

Meg pulled a large bag out of her closet and started filling it with some of her more modest clothes because what was the point of dressing up at Castiel's house if it didn’t work? Not that she actually wanted anything to happen because that was stupid, and he’d already made it clear no funny business would occur while he worked her case. 

So comfy clothes it was since she clearly couldn’t impress him outside of the club. A couple of exercise outfits because dancing alone didn’t keep her in shape; she did have to put in a tad more effort than that. Her schedule had been upended and she was too stressed out to get in a work out, something she needed to resolve. She had to do something to deal with the nerves. 

With that thought, she pulled the plastic storage container from under her bed and flipped the lid off. She chewed her lower lip as she viewed the contents; she hadn’t gotten laid in nearly a month, and it was starting to bug her. She played a good game at the club, wriggling and panting and grinding on men, but it was pretty damn rare she got excited from any of it. Sometimes Benny pushed a decent button, but usually she had to go hit a bar on her night off to pick up a guy for a one-nighter to get the itch scratched or dive into her toy box.

She eyed one of her favorites, purple, silicone, with fun little rabbit ears for that extra UNF, then shook her head and shoved the box back under the bed. The idea of trying to sneak one in while Cas was downstairs or out on the job didn’t feel right. Or way too right, way too tempting. It would only be a few more days, right? Hester and Cas seemed to put out that vibe, that this case, while ugly, was one everyone was hard pressed to get a move on quickly. She could hold out until then.

And if not? Well, Cas’ shower did have all those interesting adjustable jets. 

She took her time folding things sort of neatly to make more room for an extra pair flats and an old cable knit sweater that used to belong to her dad, too large for her by far, but it was nearly all she had left.

She lugged her bag to the front door then backtracked to Cas. “Are you...cleaning my kitchen?” She shook her head in disbelief. 

He turned, a sponge in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. "No, this is an esoteric rite to cleanse this abode of kitchen imps." 

She raised a brow, "I bet there's some imps in my bathroom too; my bedroom’s is probably full of them. You should clean those too." 

"Sorry to inform you, but there's no such things as bathroom imps." He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and folded it again to plop on the counter. "Bathroom goblins and bedroom trolls, sure, but no imps." He leaned over to take her bag from her hand. "Each to their own domain. It's all very steeped in ancient lore, of course," he said mildly, his expression completely deadpan except for the tick at the left corner of his mouth.

“Should I go ahead and expect most of your weirdass jokes to involve a reference to the supernatural?”

“Probably,” he acknowledged with a dip of his head before. She practically shoved him out the front door with a snort.

Cas dropped her suitcase in his backseat and took a minute to scout around as Meg buckled herself in. Nothing fishy he could see, no warning prickle at the back of his neck. Daytime was terrific that way sometimes, kept a lot of stuff away and allowed him a little respite, although not from his own thoughts. Sometimes, when his brain started ticking over like today, he’d give anything for the rush of adrenalin from the fight or flight response, some action to distract him from the idle musings and outlandish daydreams that cropped up with increasing frequency around Meg. Another bag of her things to add to the growing pile in his bedroom and clutter on the bathroom counter didn’t really help.

He resolutely determined he wouldn't think about anything except for driving the car right now, being vigilant. Think about parking carefully and well within the wards surrounding his building. Think about how many steps it took to get Meg from the car to his front door. Just one foot in front of the other, one small task at a time. Hex bags first, a lesson, practice. After that he'd think about what came next. That was the trick, to focus on one thing at a time with the utmost attention and try to ignore distractions. That's how he'd worked for years, he reminded himself, and that's how he do it now or try to at least.

When they reached his building without any sort of incident, supernatural or otherwise, he relaxed incrementally. Here was safety and calm, at least from outside forces. Once inside, he put Meg's bag on the floor next to the steps leading up to the bedroom, “Feel free to unpack, I’ll get the things we'll need to make the bags." He tossed his trenchcoat on the sofa and ducked into his workshop.

After 10 minutes he emerged with several wooden boxes, a length of red linen dyed with lamb's blood, and some thin leather strips, and laid everything out neatly before the woman who sat down with an alert expression at the kitchen table. "Should be enough here for at least a dozen, with a few varieties."

She had brought him a mug of fresh coffee and one for herself before she sat down, "Can hex bags do other stuff besides protect and hurt?" She had both her hands on her own mug, looking over the lip of the cup to see him after she spoke. 

"Some unscrupulous people use them to nudge the affections of another, a practice I disapprove of, incidentally. Or to improve their fortune in business. There’s quite a few applications and the strength of the bag’s magic depends on the ingredients and construction, the intent of the maker, if any enhancement have been added to it by an experienced spellcaster, that sort of thing.” 

Meg was regarding him seriously, her face intent as she nodded. Cas had the notion that if she’d had a pen she might have taken notes.

He wagged his finger over the ingredients as he unloaded the boxes containing a few small jars, silver scissors, a candle, other odds and ends. “You need to put your own hex bags together, that will increase their protection for you over anything I could construct. Cut a square of linen, about this big," he demonstrated, holding his hands apart. "Then in the middle, place a sliver of Angelica root you cut using your left hand, a spoonful of this," he slid over a jar of graveyard dirt, "some of this dried fennel, a pinch of salt, one of these smaller crucifixes," he inclined his head at a tray with a variety of them, ranging from half an inch to 3 inches long, "then light that white candle with those matches, again using your left hand, and drip three drops of wax on the ingredients. Then I'll show you how to tie it."

She stared blankly for a moment before she pursed her lips in consternation. "I didn't know this was going to be so exact. If I mess up, nothing bad will happen right?" 

"You won't mess up because I'm going to walk you through each step as we get to it.” He touched her elbow to steer her back to the dirt before touching the fennel. "Remember I told you, I didn't just 'toss shit?’” He smiled slightly and nodded when she pulled out a small cross and laid it on the linen.. "There's an order to these sorts of things, the process itself contains power, like all rituals there's a proper way to do it, otherwise it comes out wrong.” He tilted his head to watch her fumble with the matches, trying to strike one with her non-dominant hand. “You paid attention, that's very good."

She smiled a little proudly to herself when she finally managed to light the candle and dripped exactly 3 drops of wax onto the little pile of ingredients. "If I just think of it as a recipe, it's almost like cooking." She chuckled and carefully arranged her items, watching Castiel's face to make sure it was right.

"Well then, you'll be a natural." He picked up a piece of red linen for himself and brought all 4 corners together to make a bundle and wrapped a strip of leather around it 3 times, then knotted it thrice. "See, not all that complicated, once you know the steps."

She watched him then slowly replicated it until she managed to tie her bag; it wasn't as clean and tidy looking as his though.

"Excellent for a first attempt, Meg,” Cas promised.

She believed him. Cas wasn’t prone to exaggeration, not about work stuff.

“Alright, make another one. You should keep one with you at all times. Wouldn't hurt to put one in each room at work: bathroom, dressing room...et cetera.” He didn’t feel like mentioning she might wind up in a VIP room again, without him. “An ounce of prevention is greater than a pound of cure and all that." 

She nodded and started another bag, expression a bit more eager this time, determined to master a new skill. "I got the angelic, no, angelica root and the fennel aaaaand the salt-oh the cross, what am I missing...?"

"The dirt," he nodded his head at it, "can't forget that." He kept a careful eye on her as she worked, made sure she added the ingredients in the right steps, layered them the most effective way, and once caught her wrist when she nearly dripped too much wax, but he made sure to never touch the ingredients on the linen or the cloth itself. 

"Oops, thanks" she smiled a bit then wrapped and tied the bag as she had been instructed, then rubbed her fingers over it. “You make these a lot, huh?”

He nodded. “I prefer to do as much as I can from scratch. That linen is dyed with lamb’s blood. The candle is rendered tallow from the same animal. Did them myself.”

Meg looked down at the unassuming little red packet in the palm of her hand. “Fabric dying and candle making and you can’t make a decent bowl of noodles?” She shook her head in amusement. “Your priorities, Cas.”

He shrugged. “I just know if I do it myself it’s done right. There’s less risk.” He prodded one of the jars a few inches to the left with one finger. “There’s a lot of variables in my work. Things I can’t predict, so I control what I can. I work alone as much as I can. Setting up my stocks, making my own weapons, finding my own texts for spellwork, doing my own bloodwork. then i know it’s done right.” His eye fell on the table as his finger absently prodded the jar a few inches in the other direction. 

Meg wagged her finger at him, chiding playfully. “Can’t control everything, Cas, and trying is gonna give you a stressed induced heart attack”

He raised his eyes to fix on hers. His voice was steady but his expression was a bit forlorn as he looked at her. “I have to try, otherwise I’m not the only one who could land in an early grave.”

Meg blinked at his bluntness. Cas, while trying to impress the seriousness of her predicament on her, always followed it up with reassurances that he would do everything to insure her safety. Make it all go away, Alastair, Crowley, the whole rotten thing. This time he admitted there was the possibility of another outcome. 

Meg considered that for only a fleeting moment before she shoved the idea away. “Ain’t happening, Cas. We’re gonna burn that smarmy dick Crowley and his pet monster.” She nodded, determined, then ducked her head to start making another hex bag. She wanted one to carry with her, a couple for work and might as well make an extra one or two for here, maybe under the bed, in the bathroom, wherever.

She flicked her eyes up to Cas occasionally as she made a third, then a fourth, and he sat there watching her work. His hand never rose to correct her motions as there was nothing to correct mow. She learned quickly, her hands working near expertly by the 5th bag. He tilted his head as he regarded her.

She noted Cas’ speculative gaze on her and she sat up straighter, expression determined. “Alright, I got this one down. You gonna teach me more hoodoo or what? We got work to do.”


End file.
